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dearharriet · 2 months

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About Time | Chapter 1

james potter x reader time travel au | 3k words | contents

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00:00 — 1 JANUARY

James waited until he’d fallen into his childhood home, half-plastered and sad and staring himself in the eyes through his bathroom mirror. His gaze seemed colder, lonelier than usual, and when he splashed his face with cool water it chilled him to the bone.

He’d never been unsettled by solitude, never minded much retreating to an empty bed at the end of a long day. Until then.

That’s when he knew he had to go back.

“Pardon me.”

The voice from behind you was so sudden and deep that you jumped, whipping around clumsily to meet it.

“God, you startled me!”

Laying eyes on the man responsible, you instantly released any ill-will you had.

“Hi, sorry,” he said, and you were already quite smitten.

He was young, though surely not any younger than you. Handsome too, in a dismantling way, like he might take you apart if you were an old clock, just to see what made you tick.

And if he wasn’t young and handsome, he’d still gain a little credit just in looking so guilty for spooking you.

“Hi.”

This was January, and you were out on the veranda, so your breath escaped you visibly. You were aware of it trickling upward as the handsome man smiled shyly and introduced himself.

“I’m James.”

Leaning up against a white banister, you snuggled further into your shawl, watching him. He was a few steps above you, and taller by a lot anyways, so it posed a bit of a strain.

“Y/N. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Lovely name,” James commented, not missing a beat. It surprised you, but you rallied easily.

“And yours.” You sipped your drink, and when he hadn’t formed a response, decided to elaborate. “Classic.”

James ducked his head in a dashing sort of way, adding a little humility to the lethal mix of attractive traits he contained.

“Yeah, but don’t let it take any precedence. It's strangeness across the board for the rest of me.”

Your lips curled up at the corners.

“For some reason I think that’s true,” you teased, eyes shining with mirth.

There were lots of ways to be flirted with, several of which left a bad taste in your mouth and a loneliness that felt unquenchable in your chest, but this you liked.

James spoke like he was on his toes, constantly steeped in anticipation. If possible, he seemed to savor every moment while simultaneously rushing into better, deeper territory.

He came further down the steps then, and you appreciated the relief on your neck. The smell that drifted off of him was like honey and biscuits, perpetually warm on your senses, even in late winter.

“So how do you know Marlene,” James asked, and you felt the tightness of excitement in your chest realizing that he was going to stay and talk to you.

“Work,” you told him, “she’s a madwoman. Flirts with all the customers.”

James kept a polite distance from you, gravitating toward a patch of light from the windows. He wore a tailored suit that was primarily night blue, which somehow fit him with both strict lines and a charming rumpled messiness.

You wondered if he’d get any easier to look at.

“That sounds like Marly,” James agreed, looking fond. A tiny needle of jealousy pricked you, which was ridiculous, because if this were Marlene’s boyfriend she’d have been shouting it from the rooftops.

Clinging to that affirmation, you asked, “you two are familiar?”

Each of James’ hands held the opposite bicep in a half-hearted cross, aiding a small shrug.

“We went to school together.”

You nodded, growing envious for new reasons.

“That seems to be the theme around here. I’m sad I missed it.”

James smiled warmly, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Would it make you feel better if I told you it was boarding school? We had to share dorms all year.”

Fiddling with a ring on your finger, your gaze skipped to the square orange portal that led to the party inside. The window was one on the back wall of the parlor, and it became devastatingly easy to pick out the school club from the others inside. Marlene lounged beside other sharp girls and well-dressed guys, all of them laughing and bickering like siblings. You craved to be at the heart of it more than anything.

“Co-Ed?” you asked abruptly, tearing away from the vibrant crowd to see James’ face contort.

“No,” he laughed. “I roomed with Sirius, Remus and Frank.”

Your jaw dropped.

“Four to a room?”

James’ laugh thickened, his spectacles glinting white as his head tossed back. His amusement was acerbic, corrupting your bewilderment until it was lost to a goofy smile.

“I do feel much better, thank you,” you said. “Private school sounds awful.”

“Well, don’t rub it in, now,” he chided lightly.

An army of wind marched around the corner of the estate then, fighting through your thin shawl. James’ eyes traced your shivering frame as he stepped ever closer.

“Erm, hey, I was wondering—”

The patio door opened, delicate glass inlaid with iron, and yet your moment with James seemed the thing to shatter. A fair-skinned man stepped out, a hunt in his eyes, and you hoped whatever it was for wasn’t James.

Nyx-dark hair moved like shadows over the night sky, reflecting the party inside glossily. His head turned, and then he was laying eyes on your companion.

“James!” The man said, his poised effect splitting down the middle, revealing a collie’s energy. He motioned for James to meet him up on the landing. “C’mon mate, Remus has a plan.”

James shook his head simply.

“Do it without me, yeah?”

Something territorial swept over James’ friend’s face, and he suddenly looked you over. You were embarrassed to only warrant a millisecond of his attention.

“Bollucks,” he declared, challenging James to disagree. “Let’s go.”

Then he returned swiftly inside, leaving both French doors and your chest swung open. James sighed, the weight of a lost battle on his shoulders, and found your eyes again.

“Sorry, that’s Sirius,” he explained, and you supposed that would make sense.

“The roommate,” you provided. James nodded.

“I swear he’s nicer.”

You wouldn’t say you found him rude, just unfriendly. He certainly seemed warm, as did everyone at the party, but to a select few people. A select few that didn’t include you.

You said, “I’m sure.” If James thought someone was nice, they probably were. He seemed a good judge of character. Unless you had very poorly judged his character, which you wouldn’t put past yourself.

James winced. “I have to go. But, um—”

“James, mate, come on,” Sirius called from inside, and then he and another, taller man poked their heads out to check his progress in detaching himself from you.

“Alright, one second!”

You’re not sure why you said it, perhaps the people pleaser overriding your system, but you said, “it’s alright, James. You can go.”

It didn’t make him look any less torn. His head whipped back and forth between you and his friends, trying to find a solution.

Of course you wanted him to stay, but you didn’t want to hold him hostage, so you tried your best to look supportive of whatever he chose.

In the end, he stepped close to you, brows pinched with regret.

“I won’t be long. Will you—would you stay?”

You pressed your lips together in a tight smile, choking back the clawing barrage of disappointment.

“‘Course,” you said.

James blew out a breath, relaxing his tense posture.

“I really swear it. Back before you can say ‘private school,’ yeah?”

You laughed weakly, taking a long look at him for memory.

“Yeah.”

Reluctantly, James backed away from you, then turned to climb the steps toward his friends. They were sagged with impatience, hanging onto his every step the same way you were, except for different reasons. In a way, you were more jealous of these two than you were of Marlene, because they were like James’ brothers. They knew him better than probably anyone, you guessed.

James hopped up onto the landing and glanced back to you, frowning slightly. The light from inside caught his lenses just so, hiding his eyes from you, and that small detail alone felt like the end of all things.

Then, Sirius and his accomplice took each of James’ arms and hauled him inside, shutting the doors behind them.

Shivering again, you watched the three of them appear in the window, heads bowed together in conspiracy. James looked different there, like something out of a movie. He snapped right into place with the rest of them, glittering and masterfully made.

It was clear he had a world of his own—one that you would likely never penetrate, no matter how badly you wanted for it, no matter how long you waited in the cold.

Marlene would forgive you for running off, but you’d never forgive yourself if you got sick for a silly dream, so you left the party and made peace with the what-if that was James.

James fell headfirst out of the cramped coat closet, cursing as his legs tangoed and lost to a tall pair of rain boots. In his fall, he took down with him three raincoats and a hanging organizer (six hats, a bucket of gloves, and five and half pairs of sandals).

He was already tired and fuming when he entered the closet, and now he felt he’d completely lose it any second. Disengaging from his fight with evil clothing, he scooched on his bum to the scrunched up hall runner that paved the Mckinnon’s entry.

Near the end of it someone cleared their throat, and James looked up to see Fabian and Gideon Prewett, the nosiest blokes in the world. Fantastic.

“Look who we have here,” said one twin, the other smiling wickedly, ready to pick up the second half of their routine snooping.

“Off for a snog-sesh with someone, are we, James?”

Battling to his feet, James let out a long-suffering sigh, already moving their way.

“Yeah, your mum,” he snarked.

As they both laughed, James prepared to push between them, but they parted before he had to. He walked through their flank, relieved yet nervous—the typical reaction those two elicited.

Leaving them behind, the narrow hall forked off into several different rooms, offices and kitchens and a library. James played here even before he was in school with Marlene, so he knew every corner like it was his own home. He headed for the parlor.

Even for someone who had never been in the house, finding James’ destination would be easy. All they had to do was follow the music.

In the parlor, chaise lounges were hardly visible under old school friends and their families, the walls lined with business partners and gossiping aunts. Smaller children ran amok, like birds weaving between a forest of mingling adults. The hearthfire hissed and spat, bound to take down at least one fashionably dressed lady before the year was over.

James swept his gaze over the bobbing heads and flying hands, looking for someone in particular. Sirius’ thick black hair beat like a raven's wing near the back of the room, so that’s where the bespectacled boy went.

On his path, Remus stood glued to a wall, looking very antisocial. He pinged from one crutch to another, taking up new residence at James’ side.

“Where’d you run off to?”

“Had to take a piss,” James said casually. He’d grown accustomed to small lies like that, since no one knew about his little habit.

Remus didn’t question it, just picked through the crowd to where Sirius was.

“Padfoot,” James called, and he didn’t have to say anything else. Sirius excused himself and met the two of them without question, a silent understanding that forged the undercurrent of their friendship.

James led them all into another hall, one closer to the crystalline patio doors.

“I heard,” James started, “that Marlene has a pot stash somewhere ‘round here.”

Sirius and Remus glanced at each other, and James knew he had them. Even if they came up dry, the two of them would snoop just to snoop, and Remus obviously wanted away from the party anyways.

“Whereabouts do you think it is,” Sirius asked, looking at a mounted painting like it might be involved.

“Dunno,” James said, “but if we split up I bet we’d find it before the new year.”

Sirius grinned, and it spread onto Remus’ lips.

“I can take downstairs, and you and Pads can go up,” Remus said.

James shook his head.

“No, you two can go.” The two of them gave James skeptical looks, but he shrugged. “I have heavy footsteps, they’d hear me up there.”

Sirius’ expression cleared, and then he was nodding along. “Right.” He took Remus’ arm in his grasp and pulled him along. “Let’s go, Moony. I bet we can find some before Prongs.”

James heard Remus object that, “it’s only in one place,” before their conversation was lost by distance. Then, he turned around and pushed through the back doors, praying you were where he left you.

You were. Just like last time, your back was turned to him. You were staring at the clear sky, gripping your wrap close to your chest. James remembered that he’d startled you before, so he latched the doors as noisily as possible. You still didn’t come around.

He supposed that was for the best, actually, since he’d changed something already. He crept down the steps, feeling terrible for sneaking up on you, and wondering what you might’ve been thinking about that kept you so distracted.

“Pardon me,” James begged, and you spun around in shock.

“God, you startled me!”

James smiled, and your eyes trailed all over him. He couldn’t say he minded, since he was doing the same.

You reminded him of a mouse—shy but necessarily bold, holding yourself up outstandingly well as a stranger in a roomful of friends. That was, until you dipped outside and didn’t return.

“Sorry, hi,” he apologized, really meaning it this time. As expected, you smiled shyly, golden champagne tilting in the glass you held.

“Hi.”

A swath of mist escaped your mouth with the exhaled greeting. James had to remind himself that you didn’t remember the first time this happened, so you wouldn’t know his name.

“I’m James.”

You leant back, neck craning to keep his eyes. James stepped down to accommodate you, and your brows smoothed.

“Y/N. It’s nice to meet you.”

“That’s a pretty name,” James said, getting bolder. It was hard to hold himself away from you.

You dropped your head then, smiling primly at the stone steps.

“Thank you,” you said, instead of complimenting James in return.

James blinked. What happened?

“Yours—”

“I’m—”

James paused as you both spoke at the same time, looking at you the way someone might look at a tricky puzzle.

“Sorr—”

“You can—oh.”

Fingers pressed to your mouth, you looked at James, a tentative smile in your eyes. James sighed, and then laughed strangely. He motioned for you to go ahead, only to find your hand unfolding into the same gesture. Both of you stared at each other for a beat before falling into a fit of giggles.

“You go,” James said finally, smiling. You just shook your head.

“I don’t even remember.”

James squinted at your rosy cheeks, his lips picking up at the corners. You could lead a horse to water, he supposed.

The temptation to learn more about you began to win him over, so he bent a few rules.

“So you work with Marlene, I hear,” he spoke, fibbing ever so slightly.

You smiled a bit, none the wiser. “I do, yeah.”

James looked inside, checking for dark hair or an itchy sweater, but Remus and Sirius were still missing. Good.

“What’s that like?”

Brows furrowing, you followed his gaze.

“It’s…interesting. She’s really nice, but she—”

“Flirts with all the customers?” James supplied, peeking at you out of the corner of his eye.

You stared at him for a tick. “Yeah. You must know her?”

“Childhood friends,” James decided, nodding. When he turned back to you, you were raking your eyes over his dressy outfit, lip caught between your teeth. Your eyes found his, and you looked away. James thought he saw a flush to your cheeks.

The wind whipped around the corner then, and James began shouldering his thick jacket off, finally doing what he’d wanted to do before.

“You must be crazy,” he said, coming closer. “It’s freezing out here.”

You braved a look at him, and alarm sunk into your features.

“No, James, you don’t have to do that. I’m fine.”

“Don’t be polite, lovely, you’re shivering. Here.”

James slowly held his coat over your shoulders, leaning back to watch you carefully. He saw the moment you accepted his offer, sinking back into the warmth the garment still held.

“Thank you,” you breathed as James pulled away. He shoved his cold hands into his pockets, now looking to conserve heat.

“‘Course.”

Though his hands weren’t on you anymore, James stayed just as close as he was moments ago. He could smell the champagne in your glass. He glanced around to the garden, to your feet on the step, just below his.

“D’you want to head inside?” he asked. “It’s almost midnight, I think.”

Your lips turned up, and James hoped to God he’d get to kiss them.

“That sounds lovely.”

James flipped his phone open, the small screen giving off just enough light in his dark room to make him squint. He was wondering what you’d put for your contact—a smiley face, maybe, or a heart? He hoped you put a heart. It took his brain far too long to catch up to reality.

With a shock of gut-twisting dread, James realized he’d been so wound up over kissing you that he forgot to ask for your phone number. Your phone number.

He groaned, glancing at his bed longingly, but he knew he wouldn’t fall into it very soon. He’d go back a hundred times before he slept that night if it got him one date with you.

thank you for reading! xx | masterlist

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clumsiestgiantess · 3 months

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Lots of people wanted a continuation to the short I made for @entomolog-t’s prompt, so here you are! I already had ideas for a second part the moment I finished the first one!

(First part here)

I was so tired the night of my disappearing act that I barely made it to the scraps of insulated fabric I call my bed. Just as my head hit the comfortable fluff, a thud echoed above my head and I dashed to the doorway in seconds, heart racing. More thuds rumbled over the floorboards as I stood frozen looking fearfully upwards — believing Alice somehow knows where I am, and is trying to pry up the wooden planks to get to me. Faintly, I can hear her muffled voice. “Please, I know you’re scared, but hiding isn’t going to do either of us any good! Just come out; I swear I’m not dangerous!”

Oh. She’s probably crawling around on the floor trying to find me. Well, unless she can crawl beneath it, she’ll have a tough time finding anything but dust! I sneered at the thought, trying to reassure myself enough to get back in bed. I’m safe now. She’s not going to find me here. However, no matter how many fabric scraps I press over my ears, I can’t drown out enough noise for me to sleep. Even when I lay on the cold floor with everything over my head until I’m nearly suffocating, I can still feel the vibrations of Alice moving around. Just go to sleep already! Thud around all you like in the morning when I leave for the day! Regardless of my mental harassment of her, the human didn’t give up until it was early morning.

Finally, I have peace and quiet, and I fall asleep in record time. Come morning, the house is still silent as ever. I wake up with a gnawing ache in my chest. Briefly, I think it’s guilt over what I’d done the day before — turns out it was just hunger. I’d run away before getting to eat yesterday. Thankfully, I have some provisions that I’ve stored away for emergencies. I grab a few crackers and glance at the little watch piece that’s fastened to the wall. Oh, what?! I slept in! I usually never sleep in! My natural alarm wakes me up at almost the exact time every day. Then again, I’m usually asleep much earlier than last night, too.

No wonder the floor is so quiet; Alice is probably out of the house by now, or in her room working on human things. Quickly finishing breakfast, I slip on my bag and head out to the large kitchen. Now that my emergency stash of food is diminished, I’m a bit anxious to get it stocked again. I walk the same trek I’d sleepily walked the night before, but stop at the end of the hall where the electrical cover sits. Maybe I’ll.. go a different way.

Taking the long way through the walls, I come out inside a cabinet with windowed doors. Reaching out to push one open, I glance out of it and flinch. With cautious steps, I slide backward behind some cups. Alice is in the room. None of her usual music is playing, she isn’t watching videos on her phone, she isn’t talking to herself or a friend on the phone, either. She’s just sitting there with what appears to be her breakfast, staring numbly at a wall. Huh. Whatever ‘exams’ are, they really seem to be stressing her out. Usually she’s done with breakfast by now.

Her strange behavior can’t be because of me. She had spent less than twelve hours with me, and most of that time she spent ignoring me. Logically, she wouldn’t be that upset over someone she barely knew, right? She’d given up her search hours ago when she finally stopped keeping me up all night.

A while later, she leaves. It’s strange, though. Alice steps lightly across the room, glancing around the floor before each step. Maybe she lost something important? That tends to make humans fairly stressed. Hell, it makes me stressed. If a human’s missing something, it might mean I made a bad judgment call on what I could take without being noticed.

My nerves settle when the sound of her footsteps fade off. Back to business. My day runs relatively smoothly from there. Of course, I had to come across a knot or two in my climbing rope mid-scale, which I wasn’t too happy about. After collecting up some food, I spent a long while getting the knots to untie. It’s always best to get them out before you make a climb, that way your weight won’t tug them tighter. It was too late for that lesson to come in handy, though.

My next chore on the list is borrowing some more thread to stitch winter linings back into my clothes. The winter weather caught me by surprise. It had come earlier than I thought, and I’d nearly died because of it. Briefly, blurry visions of the inside of that knitted hat fade in and out of my consciousness. I nearly froze to death that night. If the thing hadn’t been left there accidentally, I wouldn’t have made it long enough to even try to get help. Blinking away the memories, I realized I was shivering and rubbed my hands over my arms for a bit more warmth, reminding myself that I’m safe here. The apartment never gets that cold. Ever.

At my home under the floors that afternoon, I gather up the materials I already collected. I have the fluffy inner lining that I’d taken from an old coat Alice left in a storage bin — I’ve been using it as bedding — my knife to cut everything to size, and a smaller needle I’d whittled out of a long chunk of wood. Now all I need is the thread.

Back in my little passages, I head in the opposite direction through the floor. I slow as I make my way up into the walls towards Alice’s room. Unfortunately, that’s where the sewing kit is, directly under her bed. Alice will be there for sure. Whatever she’s working on this time must be important. I haven’t heard her leave her room all day since I saw her walk in this morning. She hasn’t even gotten lunch. Maybe she has a snack on her desk! Perhaps when she’s asleep or out of the house I’ll steal some of it.

Sliding out of a crack in the baseboards behind a large bookshelf, I creep up to the very edge of it and scan the room. Sure enough, Alice is there doing schoolwork, watching a video on something called ‘trigonometry’ that I can barely pronounce — I don’t dare try to imagine what it actually is. At least she’s not being unnervingly still anymore.

I dart from my place beneath the bookshelf to beneath her bed. The sewing kit sits further towards the wall, right beside her desk. Alice seems distracted enough, scribbling down something while mumbling about things I don’t understand. She does that often enough that it isn’t as concerning as this morning. Maybe she’s finally returning to normal. That’s a relief. A human on a schedule is a good human to live with. Memorize it, use it to your advantage, and you’ll practically own the place — at least while they’re not around.

Making my way to the box, I wait for the video to start playing again before popping open the lid — timing it so she doesn’t pick up the noise amidst the other sounds she’s concentrating on. Sliding a few things around, I manage a clear path to the spool I want. Rummaging through various different items larger than yourself is no easy task, but I make it look practically effortless. A shrunken human would never be able to do half the things I do on a daily basis, I think with a smirk. I yank out the spool of thread and reach for my knife.

“No! What? How?! I used the same formula and everything!” I flinch as Alice yells, her angry voice edged with dismay. Cautiously, I tiptoe over to the side of her bedframe and glance up at her. She’s frantically writing something down, biting at her bottom lip with furrowed brows. Whatever it is, she isn’t too happy about it. I’m just about to continue my work when she glances over at the computer screen again. “What the heck?!” Furiously, she crumples her paper into a crushed ball, looking ready to throw it across the room in a fit of rage. I brace myself instinctively, thankful I hadn’t stuck around to anger her.

Suddenly, a sob wrenches out of Alice’s throat, catching me entirely by surprise. She curls her arms around her head as it falls to the surface of the desk. The paper ball drops dully to the floor. Her whole body shakes as she cries onto her desk, and my relief drops into a muted kind of confusion. “I’m gonna fail,” she whimpers, “I can’t do this. Why is everything going so wrong? I just wanted to help him; why’d he run away? I feel sick. What if he’s hurt somewhere and can’t call for help? What if he’s too scared to call for help?”

She.. really is worried about me. So worried that she’s acting like a complete mess — and not the silly endearing mess I’m fond of her for. If my disappearance amplifies her worries over these exams… Well, she didn’t tell me what would happen if she failed them, just that she couldn’t. I abandon the thread I’m after and rush for the crack in the wall behind the bookshelf. A plan’s forming in my mind. It might backfire horribly, but I’m hoping it’ll work. Alice is much too distracted for me to even bother checking if the coast is clear. Her light sobs still echo against the surface of her desk.

I slip between the two halves of the wall and take a large calming breath. Then I start shouting. “Alice! It’s ok, I-” The human sits up so abruptly I stop talking fearfully. I don’t know how beings as big as her can move so quickly. She scans the floor of the entire room in only a few seconds. Of course, I’m smart enough not to be in plain sight. “Hello?” Alice’s voice is slightly muffled like her nose is stuffy. I swallow a lump that formed in my throat. “It’s.. It’s ok. It’s me, the ‘little guy’.” Alice hastily rubs away her tears and stands up. “You’re… alright?” she asks me, glancing around. “Yeah.”

“Oh thank god!” Alice gasps, relieved. “You made me so worried for you! Are you hungry still? I- I know you haven’t eaten in a while since you.. ran off when I tried to get something for you.”

The room falls into an awkward silence. I can’t see much of her from beneath the bookshelf, but I watch Alice nervously shuffle from foot to foot — waiting for my response. She can’t stay silent for very long, though. “Look, I’m sorry I scared you off… I don’t know what happened, but I’m willing to work with you to try and get your memories and your old life back. I can’t imagine how terrifying it is to suddenly be so small, not even knowing how you got that way-”

“Stop.” Alice quieted at the single word. “That’s.. a lie. I remember everything just fine.” I want to say that I’m not terrified of being small either, but I can’t bring myself to say it. Even if I’ve lived my whole life this way, I still have my moments. Yesterday and that whole escapade with the freezing car was one of the worst of them. “So.. you just didn’t want to tell me how you shrank?” I sigh, “No.. Alice, I- I never shrank. I’ve always been this way.” She starts and stops talking a few different times — syllables barely leaving her mouth. “I’m not human, Alice.”

The silence that follows is worse than the last. It feels almost suffocating. A gentle thud reverberates over the floorboards and I peer out. Alice is kneeling on the floor, leaning down to peer under the bookshelf. Quickly, I duck back behind the wall. “Is that why you left?” Her voice softens, tears entirely gone. “I promised I wouldn’t hurt you.” “You promised the tiny human me that you wouldn’t hurt me.” I glance out of my hiding spot just as Alice’s gaze wanders, thinking through something.

“You thought I would go back on my word if I knew you were lying to me? Or you just.. thought that I wouldn’t care because you’re not human?” she asks me, sounding hurt. I feel almost chastised. Her gaze flickers to me. “I promised you that I wouldn’t hurt you. You. No matter who or what you were. I’m a bit upset you wanted to lie to me about… everything. But I can’t be mad at you for being scared of me. I won’t ask you to talk to me anymore if you don’t want to, but just know, I’m glad you’re alright.”

Tears of relief well in my eyes and my throat tightens. Tentatively, I slide out from within the crack in the wall. “You- You really mean that? You don’t care that I’m not one of you?” A small smile spreads over Alice’s lips. Of course not, don’t be silly! You’re safe here, I promise. I understand if you want to go home, though. You probably have others of your kind to get back to, and I’ve accidentally trapped you in my house.” I glance away sheepishly, “Well, about that… I kind of.. live here.” “What?!”

I end up telling her every part of the truth — how I really got into her car, where I’d gone to when I ran off — everything. “I actually did remember my name. It’s just.. not really a human-sounding one, so I couldn’t exactly give you it. My name’s Fennel, but I mostly just go by Fen.” “Fen?” she asks a bit confusedly. I nod. “Nice to finally really meet you!” Alice laughs, “How long have you been living here.. with me?” I think back. “I moved in after you were already here, but you were still unpacking things, so I don’t think it was very far off from when you moved in, too.” Alice makes a surprised noise. “Where were you living before?” “Eh, another apartment in this building. The new people were too loud, so I moved out.” She giggled, “I wish I could just pack up and slip into a new home whenever I have problems with the neighbors.” I sigh, “It’s harder than it seems; I have to rebuild a livable space for myself every time.” Alice nods thoughtfully, sitting back up. Some of her bones crack as she does, and I flinch.

“Hey, if you don’t mind, can you maybe come out from beneath there? It hurts my back to try to bend all the way to the floor to look at you.” She won’t hurt you, she won’t hurt you, she won’t hurt you. “Alright.” With slow deliberate steps I make my way out from beneath the bookshelf. Alice sits a foot away from me. I have to crane my neck back vertically to see her face, peering almost all the way downward at me. She offers me the palm of her hand. “Can I hold you? Please?” My heartbeat thunders so loudly I almost don’t hear what she asks. Cautiously, I nod and step up onto her hand, raised just a bit higher than a stair. She won’t hurt you, she won’t hurt you, she won’t hurt you.

I’ve never interacted with a human before her, but I’ve seen it happen before. My brother — well, he wasn’t actually my brother, but we always called eachother that — had been found by a human. I was there. It was pitch dark, perfect time for borrowing. We’d forgotten a light, but Gin scoffed at the idea of going back for one — until he stepped into a mouse trap. Every once and a while I’ll still hear the awful noise made when the trap snapped closed on him. The human came running when they heard the gargled shriek, and the last thing he told me was to leave him there. The metal beam that had crunched around his midsection somehow hadn’t killed him, but his body was far from unharmed.

From a grate in the floor nearby, I watched as the human found him, ensured him things would be alright, and pulled him out of the trap — tearing him in two. In hindsight, I don’t think the human meant to kill him. They screamed and dropped the half of him they were holding. I was too stricken and horrified to process that in the moment, so I just ran.

“Fen?” I flinched so violently I nearly knocked myself in the face with my hand, instinctively trying to cover my head with my arms. “Are you ok? You look sick. If this makes you uncomfortable, I can put you back down. You didn’t have to get on.” It’s just like in the car — her blue-eyed gaze looking me over with genuine concern. “I- I’m alright.” She gently shakes her head. “You aren’t, though. You’re shaking.” The gentlest pressure alights on my chest as a soft finger brushes up against it. “And your heart’s beating really fast.” Her touch is so soft — incredibly cautious like she’s holding something precious and delicate. Maybe I am, to her. It’s nothing like what I had imagined a human would feel like, nothing at all.

In a brief moment of weakness, my eyes tear up and I squeeze her finger closer, pressing my forehead against it. It is absolutely terrifying thinking about where I am. I’ve spent all my life believing it’s a place of certain death. Why is it so comfortable? All Alice would have to do to hurt me is close her fist and squeeze. My fate wouldn’t be that much different than Gin’s. She won’t hurt you, she won’t hurt you, she won’t hurt you.

Everything shifts around me and I rush to get out of her grip, immediately fearing that my imagination somehow willed an awful reality. But Alice brings me up to her chest and holds me gently against it. She tucks me against her sternum as her head comes to rest behind her hands that hold me. “It’s alright now.” I’m not sure if she’s assuring me, or herself, but I accept it and bring myself snugly against her. It’s blissfully warm there. While the walls where I live aren’t nearly as freezing as the outdoors, they’re still plenty cold. The heat is more than welcome. My wild pulse softens into a much normal rhythm while I listen to Alice’s own heartbeat thrumming beneath her skin.

Things are fuzzy in my mind beyond that moment. I’ve been up for a full twenty-four hours, and the night before was only worse than the last. I remember stumbling off her palm onto her desk, watching dazedly as Alice looked around the room for something. She finds it and places it down for me. It’s a little blanket folded over so it can be both a mattress and blanket at the same time. I crawl into it, listening to the sound of pencil scratches on paper for only a few minutes before I fall asleep mumbling a weary ‘thank you’.

#hope you enjoy!#g/t #giant/tiny #g/t writing

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velidewrites · 1 month

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Don’t Look Back

Five hundred years ago, the humans fought hard for their freedom in the Great War and won. Now, their former masters seek retribution in a rebellion that grows stronger year by year. When Elain Archeron finds out marrying Greysen Nolan might be the only solution to keep her family safe from the ancient, cruel Fae, she doesn't hesitate to fulfil her duty. What Elain doesn't know, though, is that the man with the fiery hair and russet eyes is not her fiancé, but his killer—and when she finally finds out, well…it will be far too late to turn back.

Chapter 5/15 || Read on AO3 || Go to Chapter 1

Chapter 5: The Hold

Much to Elain’s dismay, Lucien decided to put a blindfold on her before she managed to examine the strange place.

The Vanserra Hold, Lucien had called it. All Elain had caught a glimpse of, though, was the circular clearing, and the fire burning around it. As far as she was concerned, the only things this forest held were the Vanserras’ egos and a rather pungent collection of mud.

She could feel the magic around her, though. The metallic tinge of it was familiar enough for her to make out through this blend of autumn and sunlight—she had scented it on more than one occasion in her father’s private repository. It was almost like autumn had somehow found a way to trap this piece of land as the rest of the world moved through the rest of the seasons unaffected.

Despite herself, Elain enjoyed the way it warmed her skin. Her body seemed to move of its own accord as she tilted her chin upwards, as though to soak up whatever light the gaps between the trees offered.

Doing so had been a mistake—something sharp caught in her hair, grazing against the back of her neck lightly, and Elain jumped at the sensation.

“Stop moving,” Lucien instructed, tying the piece of cloth around her head at last. The blindfold may have covered her sight—her entire face, really—but Elain could practically hear his eyes roll at her reaction to his claws. “I thought you weren’t afraid of monsters, Princess,” he teased.

“Stop calling me that,” she barked. Frankly, she was starting to get quite sick of his little jabs—sick of everyone calling her the title she had not earned. In their mouths, it had always sounded like at worst mockery. At best, it had been respect for her father, not Elain. Never Elain.

She felt Lucien shrug. “I’ll call you whatever I like,” he said, taking a step back as if to admire his work. “You’ve had no trouble calling me a beast earlier.”

“I never said beast,” Elain corrected.

A sigh. “Beast, monster,” Lucien said. “Creature. It’s all the same to me, just as I know it’s all the same to you.”

Behind the blindfold, her eyes narrowed. “Don’t presume to know what I mean,” she hissed. “You are a monster. You killed my mother.”

“Eris did.”

“I don’t imagine you tried stopping him,” Elain said, crossing her arms over her chest in accusation. “He doesn’t even feel a shred of remorse about it.”

Lucien snorted. “No, he does not,” he said. “And neither do I. Think of me whatever you like, Princess, but I’m not even half the monster your mother was.”

It wasn’t the first time she’d heard the Fae slander her mother in the past few hours. The two of them had never been as close as Elain had wished—Mother had always seemed to prefer Nesta, which, as disappointing as it once had been, was not surprising in the least. Nesta was, and always had been, a force to be reckoned with—an heir that would strengthen the Merchant’s position in the new world no matter the odds. Elain…Mother had never once looked at Elain the way she would look at Nesta. With pride, with determination. Still, Elain supposed, it was better than Mother never looking at her at all.

As much as she’d always underestimated Elain, and ignored her youngest daughter completely, Elain had never believed her mother to be a bad person. She was ambitious, yes—stricter than most parents would have been, even the titled ones—but a monster…

She wished she wasn’t blindfolded, if only to give Lucien the nastiest look possible as she told him, “I don’t believe you.”

An equally nasty retort must have been armed at the ready on Lucien’s tongue, because Vassa interjected, reminding them both of her presence, “Give them a chance, Elain.” A hand on her shoulder—Vassa’s, thankfully, if the gentleness of the touch was any indication. “I promise you, all will be explained soon.”

“Ah, yes. The truth.” Elain rolled her eyes, and, as politely as she could muster for old time’s sake, shook Vassa’s hand off. “I want to believe you, Vassa, but how can you be sure they didn’t use their magic to lure you over to their side?” she asked, then added, “In New Prythian, they tell us if the Fae who could hold a person’s mind like it was nothing. Who could make it their own with less than a snap of their fingers. How can you be sure they haven’t done the same to you?”

To her utmost surprise, Vassa giggled. “Eris doesn’t have this ability,” she said. “And neither does Lucien—though I imagine he feels very bitter about it.”

A low scoff sounded beside them. “Can you not see me standing here?”

“Either way,” Vassa continued as if Lucien hadn’t spoken at all, “I didn’t simply trust their word, if that’s what you’re afraid of. There is…” she hesitated. “An object.”

Perhaps it was the Merchant’s daughter in her—but Elain’s brows rose. “An object?” she asked, her interest piqued as her mind began running through her father’s collection of truth-enhancing artifacts.

Lucien hissed. “Not here, Vassa.”

Vassa sighed deeply. “Sorry, Elain,” she told her. “You’ll have to be patient with us, I’m afraid.”

Elain huffed. “It’s hard to be patient with a blindfold around my face,” she complained, blowing the loosened cloth away from her mouth. “I can hardly breathe.”

A light step towards her crunched one of the autumn-coloured leaves as long, slender fingers reached for her, gently adjusting the blindfold and pulling it high enough to expose her mouth to the sunlight once again. It was a nice change from Lucien’s talons and Vassa re-tied the piece of fabric—a little tighter this time, yet not tight enough to pull on so much as a strand of hair.

“Thank you,” Elain told her, shoulders relaxing in Vassa’s warm presence.

But it wasn’t Vassa’s voice who spoke back, so close to Elain’s face she could almost feel its owner’s breath on her neck as he pulled back. “You’re welcome,” Lucien said quietly, leaving nothing but a light tingle on her skin.

The memory of his body’s closeness to her own made Elain suck in a breath, and, for the first time, she truly allowed herself to think about the events before she discovered Lucien’s deception. The way he’d swayed her in a dance, a strong hand braced gently on her waist. The way his laugh rasped against her ear as he told her her eyes were the most beautiful he had ever seen—as she had confessed the exact same to him before pressing her mouth to his own.

The reminder of it—the lie, made her empty chest tighten. But before she could take her thanks back, before she could blow up at him for tying her up and taking her from her home all over again, the sound of someone’s steps reached her ears.

Eris stopped by her side, tall and commanding. “If you three are done wasting our time, I suggest we get moving.”

“Let me help you,” Vassa offered, taking Elain by the arm. “This really wasn’t necessary, Eris,” she added pointedly, her gaze palpable on the cloth covering half of Elain’s face.

“I can’t have her running back to the Merchant and spilling all our secrets,” Eris said calmly. “The entrance to the Hold is sealed and has never been opened by anyone who doesn’t bear the Vanserra name.”

And with that, he simply turned and left again.

“So demanding, these males,” Vassa hummed, and, with a light tug as her only invitation, Elain started walking.

The heat of the fire burning atop the pillars signalled that they reached the very centre of the bizarre circle—the entrance to their family hold, Elain suspected from Eris’s words. As much as she hated to admit it, Eris had been smart to demand a blindfold be put on her. Elain would’ve started noting every corner of this place into her mind had she only been able to see them.

Still, she would make do with whatever clues she’d been offered. The ground changed beneath her feet, the heavy echo of stone signalling what had to be a door. The Vanserra Hold laid underground, then—it was not some invisible fortress hidden between the trees she’d initially suspected had been glamoured using whatever remnants of High Lord magic Eris still possessed. If he indeed was the direct descendant of Old Prythian’s Fae regime, Elain needed to be careful. The Fae’s magic had become nothing but a shadow of its past might, but—as Elain had learned—darkness could be haunting if one walked into it blind.

Silently, she cursed the damn blindfold again.

Around her, the flames intensified, and Elain could feel it blaze high up into the sky at whatever command Eris had given it. To have such power over an element, especially one as uncontrollable as fire, filled Elain with unease. Just what, exactly, could the Vanserras do with the fire in their blood?

The stone rattled loudly beneath her feet, and she felt Vassa pull on her arm once more as if to get her to step back. Elain obeyed. She may not have appreciated being taken here, but that hardly meant she’d let herself be swallowed by the depths of the earth itself.

Apparently, she was instead supposed to walk into them of her own volition. The entrance had stopped moving after a few seconds, its final groan sounding in what had to be a hallway stretching underneath. After Vassa murmured something that suspiciously sounded like “stairs,” Elain realised this might take a while.

To have survived this long—five hundred years after the War, to be exact—the Vanserras must have taken all the precautions their magic had allowed for to protect themselves. The Hold must have been carved deep into this enchanted piece of land. Elain couldn’t help but feel some excitement at the thought of being one of the few humans allowed to step foot in it.

Kidnapped or not, she was in Old Prythian. She had visited Braemar only once as a child, and, even so, she had spent the entire trip either in her father’s golden carriage—so unlike the half-rotten wooden wagon Lucien and Eris had her travel in—or the Huntsman’s fortified castle. She wasn’t even allowed outside—not that the Huntsman had any gardens or sights to offer beyond the hunting rounds surrounding his residence. Elain wondered how Vassa must have felt leaving that place for good—seeing the world beyond her father’s iron gates.

Elain had always found ways to occupy herself. The Archeron Manor boasted acres upon acres of rolling green hills, of greenhouses and little fruit orchards Elain tended to on summer days. It was her way of being useful, in whatever way she could. She was not a tactician the way Nesta or her mother had been, or a free spirit like Feyre, sneaking off the family grounds whatever chance she could. Perhaps it was why Elain hadn’t ended up married to one of the most powerful men in the world, like Nesta. Perhaps it was also why she hadn’t ended up killed like Feyre.

The thought made something heavy lodge itself into her throat as she began descending down the stairs. Her quiet life spent conforming to the rules may have avoided her being married to a family as cruel as the Harvester’s, or being taken by the Fae and presumed dead. But, about to discover the trove of one of the most ancient magical families Prythian had ever seen, Elain couldn’t help but wonder if she ever truly lived at all.

Nesta had hardly written her at all these days, kept under the Harvester’s close watch, but Elain had no doubt her older sister’s scheming did not end with her marriage. And Feyre—her wild, wonderful Feyre—while she hadn’t lived very long, Elain knew that, if given another chance, Feyre would not have let herself be trapped in their family’s manor for the sake of something as fleeting as safety.

Perhaps, eventually, she would have run away the way Vassa had, which brought Elain back to the question she’d been meaning to ask ever since that awful carriage ride to the Hold.

“How on earth did you manage to kill twelve men on your own?” she turned to Vassa, grimacing at yet another wet drop of watery mud gracing the top of her head. From the amount of cracks in the ceiling, Elain deduced the Vanserra Hold was a lot older than five hundred years—perhaps twice that, or even more.

“You don’t get to be the Huntsman’s daughter without learning how to fight,” Vassa said, a sly smile creeping into her tone. “I became a warrior on the day I learned how to stand.” Then, “I could teach you, if you’d like,” she offered.

“Oh, I’m no warrior,” Elain said. Someone like Feyre or Nesta may have taken her up on the offer, but Elain…

“Just because you’re not a warrior doesn’t mean you can’t learn how to fight—to defend yourself,” Vassa said. “Lucien isn’t a warrior, but I can assure you he knows how to land a strike or two.”

Somewhere behind them, Lucien scoffed. “Excuse me—“

“Oh, shut it,” Vassa interrupted, much to Elain’s content.

The corridor rumbled with a snarl in answer.

Elain jerked her chin pointedly at Lucien. “He sure seems like a warrior to me,” she told Vassa, who laughed at the comment.

“Lucien commands one of our legions, but his primary role is diplomatic in nature.” Elain felt her shrug. “He’s an emissary—sometimes even a courtier, when the situation demands it.”

Elain arched an eyebrow. “Courtier?” She scoffed. “I’ll make sure to advise all the other human courts to keep him off the guest list.”

Courtier. The Fae certainly had some way of showing it. As far as political envoys went, Elain was pretty sure she’d never heard of kidnapping their host being one of their responsibilities.

Lucien seemed entirely unbothered by her not-so-subtle dig. “I have no desire to attend your human parties—if you can even call them that—ever again,” he said.

Rude. “Looks like he could use some additional training,” she said to Vassa. The woman laughed again, apparently all too happy to play witness to their exchange.

Lucien hummed lowly, the sound reverberating into her bones. “You seemed to find my presence perfectly enjoyable, Princess,” he teased, the stupid nickname quickly prompting the return of the anger she’d been stifling.

Lucien Vanserra was such a liar.

“Is he always this insufferable?” Elain asked gruffly.

Vassa’s chuckle danced off the stone walls. “Oh, yes,” she told her. “Worse, even.”

Elain didn’t get the chance to play along—the entire party came to a halt.

She heard the crackling of flames again, followed by a quiet whisper of something she couldn’t quite discern from Eris’s lips—and then, a loud grunt of heavy, wooden doors, protesting against the clearly rusted, iron hinges.

Vassa led her into the room, an almost indiscernible gust of wind greeting them as they entered. Elain felt the wooden panels beneath her feet—then a balustrade, smooth and polished as though recently renewed. She rested her hands on the wood, then reached out only to find an empty space.

A pair of hands reached the knot tied at the back of her head, working smoothly to undo it. Elain nearly sighed with relief as the material fell from her face, and her gaze immediately darted to follow its direction.

It did not rest discarded on the floor—no, her blindfold kept on floating downwards, down what had to be at least ten stories built deep into the core of the earth, each of them a trove for the Vanserras’—for Prythian’s—most ancient history.

Books, tomes so old she could make out their yellowed pages from the balustrade overlooking the cylindrical space—filled every shelf along with scrolls Elain’s trained eyes couldn’t even begin to try to date. Chests, scattered and squeezed into every empty corner, It did not rest discarded on the floor—no, her blindfold kept on floating downwards, down what had to be at least ten stories built deep into the core of the earth, each of them a trove for the Vanserras’—for Prythian’s—most ancient history.

Books, tomes so old she could make out their yellowed pages from the balustrade overlooking the cylindrical space—filled every shelf along with scrolls Elain��s trained eyes couldn’t even begin to try to date. Chests, scattered and squeezed into every empty space, containing what Elain had to imagine were artifacts the family had gathered over the course of their entire lineage. Sofas, ottomans and small, cushioned puffs waiting at every level, as if to provide reprieve for every Vanserra wishing to take a moment to study the knowledge and wisdom of his ancestors. The entire place had been crafter of warm, auburn wood, with small globes of fire trapped within stained glass floating around calmly, illuminating the space.

It was a library. It was a treasury. It was a home.

Eris led them to the left of the small balcony, then through a foyer where the staircase to the first downstairs level stretched out, and a door waited patiently to let new visitors in. Eris ignored the staircase, much to Elain’s disappointment, and wrapped a freckled hand around the golden handle—then twisted.

They walked into an unassuming, circular study, with red sofas and a large, heavy desk placed at the back of the room. The entire wall was clad in paintings—some of them portraits of the Vanserras of old, most brown or red-headed, all with a piercing, fiery stare—and others displaying scenes of a hunt, with the family mounting proud stallions and flaunting red banners, hoardes of greyhounds running at their side.

The Vanserras, Elain realised right there and then, had once been royalty.

“Stay here,” Eris instructed, as if thoroughly unimpressed by the scenes laid out before him. “Vassa, I need you with me,” he then said, and, without so much as turning over his shoulder, went out the door.

The only thing Vassa offered Elain before following in the High Lord’s footsteps was a rather exaggerated roll of her eyes. “All those centuries, and they never learned to say please.”

***

Because luck seemed to have made its personal nemesis out of Lucien, he was left in the room with Elain Archeron. Alone.

He did not support Eris’s decision to bring her into the Hold. It had always been a trove of their family’s legacy, and, more importantly, their secrets tha Elain was not privy to. With the exception of a few close allies, no living beings apart from Lucien and his brother knew about this place, and Lucien preferred to keep it that way. There were so few places he could call home these days.

The truth, as Vassa had so eloquently put it, could have been revealed to Elain somewhere else. As far as Lucien was concerned, the Merchant’s daughter, of all people, had no business stepping foot into the Vanserra Hold.

But, for some reason far beyond Lucien’s imagination, Eris wanted her here, even when her family had proven time and time again they were not to be trusted.

He would speak to his brother about this later. For now, apparently, he was Elain Archeron’s assigned guard dog.

Lucien dared a glance at the human Princess, and regretted it almost immediately. As much as he didn’t enjoy her presence in his home, she might very well have been the most beautiful thing that had ever made its way into the Vanserra thought.

He could almost feel his ancestors’ sharp looks of disapproval from the portraits above him, as if they had heard the traitorous thought. They haven’t spent much time alone, and yet, whenever the two of them had found themselves with no company to interrupt them, Lucien had a hard time remembering what Elain truly was. It felt strange—that something so beautiful could have come from a lineage of such monsters.

There was simply something about the way she took in her surroundings, wide-eyed with the awe written all over her face—as though she could feel the magic buzzing in this place. It lit up her features like the fire shining above them, like the sunlight warming the entrance to the Hold, turning her brown eyes into pure, liquid honey.

There was some wariness etched into her face, too, though. She must have recognised exactly how much power this place housed, and how unmatched she stood in comparison had she tried to run away again. Clever little thing—he could practically see the wheels of her mind turning, cataloguing every image, every object into the pages of her memory to report to her father later.

Over Lucien’s dead body would he ever let that happen.

“I have to ask,” Elain’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts. “What was so horrible about our human parties?”

Lucien blinked—how she’d always managed to catch him off guard, he did not know, and frankly, he didn’t want to. Perhaps it truly was some magic the Archerons passed down to one another generation after generation. Perhaps it was in their blood to be the thorn in the Vanserras’ side.

Their conversation from a few minutes ago flitted back into his memory. What wasn’t wrong with the humans’ dreadful balls and ceremonies, really?

He told her exactly that. “They lack…life. You walk into the room and the very air drowns you.” He shook his head, recalling the engagement festivities arranged by her father. “It’s impressive at first, I’ll give you that—the walls and chandeliers dripping in gold, and the finest cuisine the world has to offer.” He grimaced. “But then, the music starts playing—and it may be performed by some of the most sought after quartets in Prythian, but…”

Elain’s perfect brows rose an inch. “But?”

“The dancing—all of it, really—it feels like a chore. A formality required to earn some standing in society. Your parties,” Lucien added, the word he’d been chasing finally finding its way onto his lips, “feel like a contract. The dullness, the lacklustre monotony of it—

Elain huffed. “Alright, I get the picture,” she interrupted, but Lucien hadn’t missed the curiosity in her gaze as she side eyed the scenes of the hunt stretched out beside them. “What are your parties like, then?” she asked.

It may have been the longest the two of them had spoken since the ball, Lucien realised. So little time had passed since then that it almost felt as though they were continuing their conversation from the night before. “I’m only a little over four hundred years old,” he told her, ignoring the shock parting her mouth at his words. “I never got to witness my predecessors’ celebrations before the War, or any of their holidays for that matter. A shame, really.” He felt his mouth twitch. “One of those holidays, I think I would have been a most devoted participant of.”

“I have a feeling I know where this is going—something terribly Fae and uncouth.”

“Quite,” Lucien agreed, unable to keep the grin off his face. Something told him he was going to enjoy scandalising this female—this woman—his mind immediately corrected, but he ignored the voice anyway. “In most parts of the world, they called it Calanmai, or Fire Night. It originated in the Spring Court, actually—the lands your family has claimed as New Prythian.”

Elain frowned. “We do not have any such holidays in our records.”

Lucien scoffed. “Of course not. I don’t imagine you humans would have found it appropriate by any means. Calanmai was a celebration of the coming of spring—and in the Court itself, it was a most sacred ritual performed by the High Lord to imbue magic into the land. Think of bonfires, thousands of them, lighting up every hill, smoke lilting into the stars. Drums, loud and echoing into the night. And wine—so much of it that you’d end up falling asleep under the sky, waking up to the spring breeze in your hair. The sun warming your face.”

Lucien cleared his throat. “Or, at least, that is how it was described to me.”

He could have sworn something pink heated in Elain’s cheeks. “I could see it, you know. You being a courtier—when you’re not such a condescending asshole, that is.”

Lucien’s eyes narrowed. “I have never met a Princess so crass before,” he purred, deeply revelling in the resentment she bore for the nickname. How could she not be a Princess, though? Everything about her stance radiated command as she crossed her arms in disdain, her full lips pursing and those doe-like eyes flashing with challenge.

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

Lucien’s mouth twitched. “And I told you I’ll call you whatever I like,” he said. “Comes with the Asshole title, I’m afraid.”

Delighted, he watched as Elain whirled back to the Vanserra family portraits, murmuring something that suspiciously like prick and ridiculous, even her ears flushing that warm, lovely pink. Lucien smiled to himself.

“So, what was the ritual?” Elain’s voice reached him, still gruff as she focused on the rather unpleasant profile of Lucien’s great-great grandfather.

“Ritual?” Lucien questioned, his attention refusing to step back as far as two minutes ago for reasons unbeknownst to him.

Finally, Elain turned to him again. “Calanmai,” she reminded him.

Right. Lucien coughed again. “As I mentioned, infusing magic back into the land was the primary aim of the celebrations—it was the High Lord’s obligation to perform what was called the Great Rite.”

Elain’s brows knitted. “And how, exactly, was he supposed to do that?”

The grin made its way back Lucien’s face as he explained, “Every year, the High Lord of the Spring Court allowed the power of the Rite into his veins. Transformed into a beast, a creature of the very essence of spring, he would allow it to seize his body, his mind, his senses entirely.” He met Elain’s gaze directly as he added. “Each year, the magic would choose a Maiden—usually one of the members of Calanmai celebrations—a companion for the High Lord to…complete the Rite.”

Elain’s eyes widened. “They—they would—”

“Fuck, yes,” Lucien completed for her with a wave of his hand, eliciting a small gasp from Elain’s lips. He chuckled. “And, with the act, they would ah, release the magic into the land. To allow crops to grow healthier, of course.”

The silence hung between them long enough that Lucien couldn’t help but tease her some more. “Something wrong, little fawn?” he asked, realising that he was indeed thoroughly enjoying this—and that perhaps it was a good thing Eris or Vassa weren’t here to scold him for scandalising their guest a step too far. In his defence, Elain had asked him first.

“Your parties sound outrageous,” Elain finally said, that heat in her cheeks rising.

Lucien winked. “That’s exactly what parties should be, Princess.”

Elain smiled at that—a true smile, the kind she’d offered Vassa when she first saw her at the camp. The same kind she’d offered him when she hadn’t yet thought him an utter monster. “Is that why you brought me here? To show me how to throw better parties?”

Lucien choked. “Show you?”

The picture of it invaded his mind without warning—an image of him and Elain partying the way Lucien’s ancestors demanded it. A cave, lit up by faelight and thrumming with magic, their bodies naked and intertwined on the mossy earth, its fragrance mixing with their sweat. Elain laid out bare beneath him, her breasts heaving up and down in panting, shallow breaths as he entered her, so perfect and ready for his taking, his—

Lucien sucked in a breath, nearly choking again on the force of it, the force of the picture pushed back into the darkest, most secret corners of his mind. Eris and Vassa should have been here after all, if only to remind him of what happened the last time Lucien Vanserra had decided to trust a human like Elain Archeron.

Because she was a human. And the humans—the humans took his mother. His father, however horrible he had been. His brothers. They had nearly taken Eris, too, and Lucien’s heart right with it.

Lucien would not let it happen again. He would not let another Jesminda into his life.

“Of course,” he said tightly, “My people’s traditions would not have faded from common memory had it not been for you humans.” He shrugged. “As for why we brought you here—take it up with Eris. If it were for me, I would have never brought you into the Hold.”

He could see it—the way Elain’s smile faded. The confusion filling her shining stare, blending into hurt, so sharp it could no doubt pierce his own chest if she only stepped in closely enough.

Lucien could see it all, and the worst part of it was that he hated himself for it.

“We brought you into the Hold,” Eris voice sounded from a place Lucien was not yet ready to return to yet as his brother walked back into the study, Vassa falling into step beside him, “Because it was the safest place to show you this.”

In a few long strides, Eris reached the desk, and placed the heavy object right at its middle, the wood croaking slightly under its weight. A thick red fabric—an old Vanserra banner, from the looks of it—covered the globe entirely. Eris motioned for Elain to step in closer—and she did, as if drawn by the mystery of it alone. Lucien, though—Lucien remained frozen in place.

“This,” Eris began, placing his hand atop the smooth surface, “is the Veritas Orb.” In one, swift motion, he slid the banner off, revealing one of their family’s most prized and priceless possessions. The Orb shone a quiet, crystalline light, as though somehow made of all the colours and none of them at all, humming gently at the closeness of its owner’s hand—as if begging. Touch me. Talk to me. Ask me.

But Eris turned from its whisper—and looked at the Merchant’s daughter who stood in utter shock, mesmerised by the treasure laid out right before her.

“So, Elain Archeron.” Eris smiled. “Are you ready to learn the truth?”

#elucien #pro elucien #elain x lucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #elucien fic #elucien fanfic #elucien fanfiction #acotar #my writing

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reidsaurora · 1 year

Text

"Frankenstein" ~ S. Reid

Summary: It’s that time of the year again when the annual BAU Halloween party is fully underway. However, one Halloween lover isn’t acting exactly like himself, and his partner intends to find out why.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader (no use of Y/N)

Word Count: 1,357

Content Warning: mentions of Spencer’s S9 neck injury, mild swearing, i think that’s it but as always, lmk if i missed something!

Genre: Fluff, i guess a lil hurt/comfort too

Extra Notes: EMMY WRITING AN ACTUALLY DECENT SUMMARY FOR ONCE??? I’M SHOCKED TOO TBH

Based On the Prompt: “Emotional Damage” - new scars (from 2022 Whumptober Prompts)

Originally Written: between 10/27/2022 and 10/29/2022

Beta Read By: @dungeons-are-too-cold and @reidsbookclub 🫶🏻

Criminal Minds masterlist can be found here!

Whumptober masterlist/schedule can be found here!

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Spencer made his way down the stairs nervously, somehow hoping to avoid his partner, or at least avoid her opinion of his impromptu Halloween costume change.

Unfortunately, she noticed immediately. After all, she’d been putting together her Bride of Frankenstein costume for weeks, what with perfecting her makeup and spending hours thrifting the perfect dress.

“Now, where is your costume?” she sassed, hands on her hips.

He pouted, his lips scrunched tight together. “This is my costume,” he answered, fidgeting with the ends of his scarf.

“Spence, we’ve been talking about going as Frankenstein and his Bride for months now,” she reminded him. “Why are you recycling your Doctor Who costume?”

“First of all, it’s a cosplay, not a costume,” he rebutted, his hands flying to his own hips.

She huffed lightly, “Sorry, my bad. Cosplay.”

“Second of all,” he continued, “this just feels more like me.”

One of her eyebrows cocked upward. She saw right through him. “You begged to be Frankenstein this year and now all of a sudden, you wanna go as the Sixth Doctor?”

“It’s the Fourth Doctor,” he whined, a frown pulling his lips downward.

“Look, I don’t care if you’re supposed to be the Millionth Doctor, you aren’t fooling me, Spencer Walter Reid. I’ve known you since we were cadets. I know when you’re lying.”

“Nuh-uh!” His tone sounded similar to a four-year-old who’d be accused of stealing candy.

His partner saw past all of this though. She noticed the way he tugged at his scarf, pulling it the teeniest bit tighter around his neck. She noticed the saddened, almost embarrassed look in his eyes, and suddenly understood his behavior.

“Spencer,” was all she had to say before he was coming undone. Every bottled up tear he’d been holding in throughout the day suddenly slid down his cheeks.

Spencer didn’t say anything, he couldn’t. He just sat down on the bottom stair and cried nearly silent into his palms. His body shook as sobs wrecked him, every ounce of insecurity attempting to shed its way out of his body through his tears.

She silently sat down beside him, her white dress cascading down the floor. “I know it’s hard to take me seriously when I have this giant ass wig on my head,” she started, managing to earn herself an amused sniffle from the man beside her, “but it would help me immensely if you’d tell me what’s going on in that big, smart, and evidently, sad brain of yours.”

He looked up, finally making eye contact with her again. “I don’t want anyone to see my new scar,” he answered, tears stilling on the edges of his bottom lids.

Her hand slid up to his hair, brushing through those signature cinnamon-brown curls of his. “Spencer, if there’s one thing I’ve learned throughout my many years as an insecure woman, it’s that no one is paying attention to any of your flaws, even the thing you think is your biggest imperfection.”

“But what if they say it’s ugly? Or what if they think it’s scary?”

Her arm wrapped around the back of his shoulders, pulling him close to her side. “Spencer, if anyone says anything, I’ll kick their ass. Because that—getting shot in the neck and living to tell the tale—is possibly the most badass thing you’ve done in your whole career. And trust me, babe, you’ve done some pretty badass things.”

He wiped away the remaining drops of water as his cries stilled, managing to choke out a chuckle as he settled into his lover’s embrace.

“But if I have to be honest, I doubt anyone will say anything. It’s just the BAU and their partners. The worst that could happen would be Rossi making some sort of offhand comment and, while I'm not trying to make excuses for Rossi’s demented sense of humor, you know he means well.”

Spencer looked to the floor, fidgeting with his hands. “Are you sure no one will say anything? He whispered, just barely loud enough for his lover to make out his words.

She tapped a finger against her chin, racking her brain for some way to help him through his insecurity. Suddenly, an idea popped into her brain, almost like a light switch being flipped. “Oh, my goodness. Why didn't I think of this sooner?”

He looked back up, eyes filled with curiosity. “What?” he asked, his voice rumbling with the remnants of his previous cries.

“What is one of Frankenstein’s monster’s most memorable features?” she inquired, arms crossed tight in front of her chest.

Spencer’s eyebrows ruffled together as he analyzed her question. “His green skin?”

She giggled, “Well, yes, but what about his neck?”

His eyes lit up as he figured out what she had reference to. “His bolts and stitches!”

She nodded with a small hum. “I could draw on some stitches with some makeup and cover up your scar, if that’s what you’d like.”

He nodded with a half-smile, his eyes crinkling near the corners. “I’d like that a lot.”

That was how Spencer ended up on the bathroom counter, swinging his legs back and forth as his girlfriend decorated his face and neck with green face paint and eyeliner.

“Are you sure no one’s gonna think it’s scary?” he fretted. “I mean, what if JJ brings Henry? You don’t think it’ll scare him off, do you?”

“Spencer,” she sighed, dabbing at the makeup on his neck, “I have never seen someone who adores you as much as Henry. I doubt you’ll have anything to worry about.”

Still, Spencer internally worried, his stomach bubbling with anxiety with every second that the party got closer.

His apprehension only became worse as he and his partner made their way up the stairwell to Penelope’s apartment. His girlfriend’s fingers interlocked tightly around Spencer’s as the two wandered their way into Penelope’s apartment, their ears immediately being overtaken by The Clovers’ Love Potion No. 9.

The stampers of tiny feet were barely heard over the music as an all-too-excited Henry made his way over to the couple. “Uncle Spencer!” he shouted with a smile, showing off every tooth in his mouth.

“Henry!” Spencer exclaimed, bending down to the five-year-old’s level. His lover subconsciously noticed his anxiety melting away as he interacted with the boy, a smile sitting lightly on her face.

The boy shook his head. “I’m not Henry tonight, Uncle Spencer. I’m a lion.”

Spencer nodded in understanding, holding in a small chuckle. “Oh, well in that case, you can call me Uncle Frankenstein tonight.”

Henry’s eyes wandered over Spencer, taking in every detail of the man’s costume. As he looked over Spencer’s face paint, his eyes twinkled like stars in the night sky. “Woah!” he nearly screamed, leaning in for a better look. “Those stitches on your neck are super cool, Uncle Frankenstein!”

Spencer looked over to his partner, who simply gave him an “I told you so” grin. She watched as the two interacted, chatting for a moment about their costumes.

After a moment of Henry being absolutely mesmerized by Spencer’s makeup, he stepped away. “I’m gonna find Mommy and Dad- I mean,” he corrected himself, “Mama Dorothy and Daddy Tin-Man. I’m hungry.”

Spencer stood up, chuckling deeply as the boy ran off toward his parents, who were happily chatting with Penelope, who was dressed as quite possibly the prettiest fairy anyone had ever seen.

Suddenly, a hand made its way to the curls near Spencer’s neck. He turned, looking over the smile that still sat on his lover’s lips.

“See? What did I tell you?” she giggled, leaning over to kiss his cheek.

He sighed, leaning into her embrace. “I guess I owe you an apology.”

Her eyebrows furrowed together. “For what?”

“For worrying all the time.”

She shook her head with a giggle. “You wouldn’t be Spencer without it.”

He huffed lightly, a half-smile making its way to his lips. “I suppose you’re right about that,” he said, leaning down for a quick kiss. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” she smiled, her hand still tangled in his curls, “all part of the job, Uncle Frankenstein.”

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So... this was supposed to be up Saturday?? Obviously that did not happen 💀

I feel like I owe you guys a little bit of an explanation for what happened during Whumptober.

So, I guess the easiest way to explain it would be health problems? I know that seems to be what I always say but I genuinely have had some of the worst fatigue, which led to brain fog, which lead to unproductivity, which led to me not finishing Whumptober on time.

However, as I stated on my Stranger Things blog (@honeysuckleharringtons) I will be posting the rest of the Whumptober fics in due time. I have a lot of plans for the month of November (what with nanowrimo starting and a ✨️secret surprise✨️ for you guys) so they may not all be posted this month. Some of them may end up getting posted in December.

Anyway, to make a long story short, I do apologize for getting behind again but I promise, you guys will be getting the rest of the Whumptober fics 🫶🏻

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the7thcrow · 1 year

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Not all that Glitters is Gold -> 08

series pairing: (fem) princess!reader x seonghwa x san x wooyoung. eventual polyamory.

series masterlist | previous chapter

Part Eight: shame, hot buttered rum, and a rude awakening

series rating: 16+

series genre: action and adventure. romance. angst. fluff. suggestive. fantasy au.

series warnings: character death, blood and violence, weaponry, injury, suggestive content, mxm content, elements of misogyny, language, monsters. (will only be using chapter specific warnings for things not included on this list.)

summary: as a princess fleeing a royal assassination attempt, you have no choice but to put your trust in a band of three thieves in order to reach the kingdom of kuroku alive. however, amongst magic, deceit, and the bounty hunters that are hot on your trail, you realize that you might have stumbled upon a relationship far more complicated than what meets the eye.

chapter details beneath the cut ->

wc: 13.0k

extra chapter warnings: bondage but not the sexy kind.

chapter summary:

“Mysterious black-clad army seizing the castle. Killing the king, hunting their princess,” Yeosang says, lifting a hand to place his chin in his palm. “It’s all very fantastical, don’t you think? Like something out of a storybook. Strange to be living it.”

You almost laugh at how very true that is.

a/n: been feeling a lil nervous to post bc of the large influx of readers since the last update. i’m very grateful to have you all here, but it’s definitely made me a little worried about my writing, so i hope it doesn’t show too much in this chapter. enjoy <3

When you awaken it's to light blonde hair tickling your nose. Groggily opening your eyes, the sunlight blares through the open tent flap and down onto your unwilling face, causing you to let out a groan of annoyance. Rolling over to face away from the inconsiderate sun-beam, you're met with a sleepy murmur of protest.

Seonghwa pulls you in a little closer. The man’s grip around your torso tightens as he buries his face into your collarbone, letting out an exhale that feels cool against your clammy skin. He’s still fast asleep, breathing melodically, and you can’t help the smile that grazes over your lips.

It’s been like this ever since the mimic, at least on the nights you’ve managed to sleep at all. Even then, you’ve tried to slip out after he falls asleep and return before he wakes up.

Seonghwa has tried to pretend the entire ordeal with the mimic didn’t affect him, but you all know the truth in that it did, and deeply at that. Woo had found him beneath the floorboards of the stable, in a dug-out hole where he’d been tied up and gagged, eye black and head bleeding from where the mimic had hit him over the head with a plank.

He was there with Aisha - the real Aisha, as it turned out the one you’d talked to and had attempted to lend you her home for the night had also been a mimic’s charade. She’d been down there for weeks.

As for the rest of her family… Well, there was a reason the stable smelled so terrible, like mule shit but somehow worse. After all, the smell of death is far worse, especially when the bodies have been rotting for almost a month.

Seonghwa had only been down there for a couple hours, but that was enough for fear to creep in. With the smell of corpses hanging in the air, Aisha endlessly sobbing next to him, and the knowledge that his mimic counterpart was wreaking havoc amongst the people he cares about most, it was enough to leave more than a minor impact.

Fortunately, it appears he sleeps better having someone to hold onto.

Looking down at him, you run a hand gently through his hair, bright blonde locks moving between your fingers. It must feel nice, as he mindlessly smiles against you, lips curving upwards against your skin.

You know it’s a dangerous line you’re walking here, as the inevitability of your betrayal quickly approaches. This is especially true considering your decision to leave them once they’ve guided you through the Burovian mountains, in hopes that Minho’s prophecy will never come to pass. You’ll find a way to repay them later, but you have to ensure your survival first.

And yet, you can’t bring yourself to push him away. It’s mostly due to the fact he needs the support, the closeness clearly having eased and soothed his mind. However, there also remains what you don’t want to admit is a hint of selfishness.

The self-centered fact that you enjoy being like this, not only due to the warmth provided with such intimate closeness, but rather because it’s with him.

You think that in another lifetime, in another world, you could let yourself fall for him.

When his eyelids flutter open, Seonghwa’s eyes are coated in a sleepy haze, and he blinks a few times as if to remember his surroundings.

“Hey,” you whisper, voice light, and he lets out a groan of annoyance, although his teeth glint in a toothy grin. Rolling you over, he throws an arm over your torso, pressing your back into his chest.

“Hey yourself,” he murmurs into your shoulder, voice raspy. “Let me sleep more.”

“The sun’s high, it’s probably almost noon,” you reply, shaking your head, although you make no move to get up. “I’m supposed to have sword-training with San.”

“I’m sure he’ll survive your absence just this once,” Seonghwa says, fingers grazing softly along the bare skin of your abdomen. “If he’s mad then he can duel me, I’ll get my ass-kicked in your place.”

Playfully shoving his hand away, you turn yourself back over to face him. “Yes, that’s the way to convince me to stay, make fun of me.”

“Are you saying I need to convince you some other way?” Seonghwa offers, hand suddenly trailing its way down past your abdomen. He raises an eyebrow, and you match the expression.

When he leans in, the kiss is firm. Not sweet and delicate in the sleepy-morning fashion, but more passionate than that. It begs a question, asks for permission.

You suppose if you’re already being selfish, a little more couldn’t hurt.

Pulling your lips from his, you can’t help but grin. “Alright,” you sigh, placing a hand on his shoulder, pressing him into you. “I guess I can be a little late just this once. Maybe San won’t notice.”

“You’re late,” San says, leaning against a tree with both arms crossed as you sprint down the forest trail, running as fast as you can while dragging your sword with you. Pulling up the sleeve of your jacket as it slips down from your shoulder, you do your best to appear put-together, although you're certain you look as if you just rolled out of bed, which isn’t so far from the truth.

“Sorry,” you say, leaning over to place both hands on your knees as you catch your breath. “I overslept.”

San does not look impressed, although the corner of his lip quirks upwards in amusement. “Right,” he says plainly, removing his shoulder from the tree. “Shall we start?”

No wasting time badgering or teasing you, just right down to business. You like that about him.

He gives you a smile as you shrug the jacket from your shoulders, stretching your arms out in front of you and cracking your knuckles to quickly warm-up. You return the expression, although neither of you speak.

There’s been a bit of a rift between the two of you since the mimic, or more specifically since he comforted you afterwards. Not exactly a negative rift, as neither of you are upset with the other, nor is it overly awkward as the two of you continue to spend time training alone.

It’s more as if a can of worms has been opened. He’s comforted you, cradled you, ran his fingers over your hair and whispered that everything would be alright. Meanwhile, you sobbed into chest, clenched onto his tunic, and made him stay that way for almost an hour.

It was incredibly vulnerable on your end, as well as unbelievably empathetic on his. Either way, it was intimate, and it hangs in the air every time the two of you are alone together. Neither of you have talked about it, and you aren’t sure if you even need to, but it’s there. Undoubtedly.

“Okay,” he says, picking up his sword from where it had been discarded on the ground. Rotating it around in his hand, he eventually extends the tip of the blade out towards you, cocking his head to the side. “Your move.”

And so the two of you spar.

You’ve vastly improved over the last few days. Somehow it seems the trials of the desert invigorated you rather than stunted your progress. A little time away from the sword seemed to be exactly what you needed to grow a longing for it, and over the last couple days the two of you have dueled every afternoon.

When you move it’s no longer awkward, the sword feeling more at home in your hands. San says you have quite the natural knack for it, although you’re just glad you can spar with him for more than a few seconds before being knocked over. You’re only up to a couple minutes, but any progress is progress.

Besides, San is good. You still haven’t seen him go full out, but Seonghwa has mentioned his astounding ability enough times that you can mostly imagine it. Even after the recent stab-wound to his shoulder, he moves with an unbridled swiftness, as if the sword is merely an extension of his arm. His casual ease causes something to stir within your chest. Envy, mixed with adoration.

San takes a particularly sudden strike towards the hilt of your blade, catching you off guard. He’s incredible at keeping on your toes, at not allowing you to get too comfortable. Every time you think you have him figured out, he changes tactics. He is a difficult teacher, but that is what makes him a good one.

The strike knocks you off balance, but you do not let yourself lose your footing entirely. Bringing up the sword to block another impending blow, your feet slide backwards into the dirt as he swings once more. Making sure to keep quick on your toes, you take another step back, and the pattern continues.

Moving away from the clearing, the two of you make your way down the forest path, San striking blow after blow as you do your best to block them. Each and every swing has power, and it takes everything in you not to falter, feeling as sweat begins to bead and trail down your forehead.

Breathing becomes ragged as you just barely defend yourself from his next swing, it’s becoming increasingly apparent that you won’t be able to keep this up much longer. You’ll need to change tactics, before you face yet another quick defeat at his hands.

Bringing your focus to his stature, you manage a rushed scan from head to toe, searching for any sort of weakness. Fortunately, you’re not rendered hopeless, as it’s almost immediately obvious how he does not properly defend his own balance. It’s one of the most recent things San taught you.

“The key to winning a duel lies within the defence,” San had said yesterday morning, extending a hand out to help you back on your feet, having just knocked you over. You scowled up at him, irritated, but he knew that you hung on every word, eager to get better.

“The one who wins is the one left standing, not who delivers the most damage. Protect and withhold your balance, then seize your opportunity as it presents itself. It’s that simple.”

However, San continues to strike blow after blow. While he’s practically drilling you into the ground, a clear test of your will and endurance, it’s left the balance in his footing shoddy.

He’s gotten cocky, you realize. He assumes you won’t notice, and you aren’t sure if you’re annoyed with him for doubting you, or proud of yourself for proving him wrong. Likely both.

It’s not until after his next strike that you seize your opportunity. When his own sword comes down onto yours, you almost cushion the blow, letting him knock your own weapon towards the ground. It doesn’t matter, you won’t be striking him with it, and he won’t have the opportunity to try again.

Letting the momentum of his strike knock you downwards, you crouch further onto your knees, although doing your best to keep your ankles stable and upright. His balance is a little off, not near enough to fall over, but he clearly hadn’t expected you to suddenly drop. Capitalizing on the miscalculation, you swing a leg out towards him in a sweeping motion. It’s a bit awkward, as well as stunted considering you’ve never tried the maneuver before, but it’s just sloppy enough to work.

Your own foot takes out both of San’s own, and he lets out a small grunt of surprise as he topples over, a tad panicked as he tosses his sword out beside him. You don’t understand why he wouldn’t at least try to hold onto it, but it becomes apparent the second you realize where exactly San is falling.

That is to say, directly on top of you.

Chest pressing against your own, your back sinks into the dirt as he falls down onto you, knocking the wind from your lungs. He manages to catch himself on his elbows before your heads collide, but the result is his face hovering just above yours.

His chest heaves up and down, attempting to catch his breath, and for a moment neither of you say anything.

Because his lips are less than an inch from your own.

You can smell his breath, the strong scent of rich coffee beans, a blend he’d purchased back in Stockholm. It’s hot against your lips, and you become increasingly aware of the way his waist is pressed firm against yours. His cheeks are flushed, mouth parted open as he breathes. Sweat glistens on his skin, a testament to the effort required in your sparring.

It causes something inside of you to stir, a strange pull within your chest, what you’d almost describe as longing.

Startled by the feeling, you finally manage to pull your gaze up from his lips, only to find that he is doing the same. When his good eye meets yours, he freezes, as if exposed. You swallow hard.

Then he shoves himself off of you.

Rolling over and quickly jumping to his feet, he doesn’t go to grab his sword but rather walks a solid few strides away, running a hand through his hair as he almost makes a point of not facing you.

“That was good!” He blurts out, and his voice is raspy, almost choked. “That was really good. You caught me off guard, I didn’t expect that.”

You don’t respond immediately, because frankly, you have no idea what to say. You can hardly wrap your head around what just happened. San, being so close. His lips being so close, but more so the fact that for a moment, you didn’t wish them to be further away.

“Thanks,” you manage, and this time it’s your voice that’s weak.

Another long moment passes where neither of you say anything. He still doesn’t look at you, although he does go and grab his sword, shoving it back in its sheath.

“That’s enough for today,” he says quickly. The two of you would typically continue for at least another hour, but you don’t even bother protesting. You’re well aware of why he’s ending this early, and you agree with the sentiment.

“Alright,” you reply, and San does not waste a minute before taking off back down the forest trail and towards your campsite. Where the rest of your group is. Where Woo is.

“Right,” you think, flopping back into the dirt, looking upwards to the cloudy grey sky. You can hear the first rumble of thunder in the distance, an indication of a coming storm. You didn’t think it would rain today. “Fuck.”

San does not go back to the campsite. Instead he jogs until you are officially out of sight, before turning into the forest and pressing his back against a tree. He attempts to catch his breath, although his lungs do not seem to cooperate, each new gulp of air as unsatisfying as the last.

Leaning his head against the coolness of the bark, he slides down until he’s sitting on the ground, knees drawn up in front of him.

“What the hell just happened?” He thinks to himself, bringing both of his hands to his temples, attempting to rub away the newfound headache that has plagued him. “And what the fuck is wrong with you?”

San thought he was doing rather well to ignore the weird tension that hung in the air between the two of you since the sand village. Since he comforted you, since he held you in his arms and you clung to him just as tightly.

He knew immediately that it made something inside of him rouse. While he didn’t understand it at first, over the last couple days he thinks he knows why it made him feel so strange, an odd sort of sensation that has settled in his chest.

In that moment, you not only wanted him, but you needed him. It’s been a long time since San has felt like he’s been needed.

Instead, he’s the one who’s been in need of someone a lot lately. Woo after Gloria, you during your time at The Desert Lotus, and Seonghwa afterwards. Even before then, before they ever met you and this journey to Kuroku began, he rarely felt like someone to confide in. Woo doesn’t seem to need nor seek much comfort from him beyond the physical, and Seonghwa has always been the one to grant empathy rather than seek it.

But you let him comfort you. You let him hold you and whisper that it would be alright, in fact you sought after it. He’d be a fool to lie and say it didn’t give him a taste of the intimacy he’s been craving.

But that was supposed to be it. He was supposed to leave behind that moment the second the two of you left Aisha’s house, and move forward. No sense in longing for things he cannot have, nor seeking them out in someone he does not truly love, nor loves him in return. He is not such a fool.

Until just now. Until he was on top of you, could taste your breath on his tongue and feel you beneath him. Your eyes looking up at him, chest heaving, mouth parted open expectantly.

Not love, but for a moment there was lust. Horrible, but undeniable lust.

The way your gaze held his lips, he knows you felt it too.

But you smelt of Seonghwa, such a sobering way to bring him back to reality. You do not belong in his mind, he has no right to even indulge in an unwanted moment of weakness. For the love of the gods, you’d just been with Seonghwa that morning! How would Seonghwa feel, if he knew what San was thinking right now?

Seonghwa, who he yearns for even more greatly, with not just lust but also true affection. Love, although he fears calling it that. He already has his head full of one person that does not belong there, he has no room for another.

Then there’s the other issue. Him.

The reality of if Woo was watching, what would he think? San doesn’t even have to ponder the question, he’s well aware of the answer. He knows he shouldn’t, as he owes Woo nothing - the elemental the one who refuses to commit to him, not the other way around - but all he feels is shame.

San runs his hands through his hair, trying to swallow down the bile that floods his tongue, although his throat feels far too tight.

What is wrong with him? His self-control used to be something he prided himself on, so when did he become so weak?

He sucks in another tight breath, rubbing his face in his hands. When he pulls them away, he decides he’s done with this.

There’s nothing wrong with him, because nothing happened. He doesn’t need to complicate this. You will be gone within a week’s time, and there’s no sense in granting these emotions - if you can even call them that - the light of day.

Rising to his feet, he turns back towards the campsite before his mind can convince him otherwise.

He tells himself it doesn’t matter, and he does not permit himself the opportunity to question whether or not that is true.

“I thought you said there was a inn around here!” Woo calls, forced to shout over the sound of the pounding rain surrounding you. He holds a small tarp over both his and San’s head, looking over his shoulder at Seonghwa, expression drawn into a scowl.

The empath sits in front of you, doing his best to control the reins of the horse as the animal whinnies in protest, equally as unimpressed with the downfall. You also hold a tarp above the two of you, although considering he’s a good deal taller than you it doesn’t work nearly as well, rain pouring down from its sides onto your already drenched tunic.

The thunder had transformed into a raging storm almost immediately, soaking your tents and causing the four of you to pack up your campsite in a whirlwind of panic. Desperate to avoid hypothermia from sleeping under soaping wet blankets, you managed to be on the horses and moving before anything got too damaged.

Only to be riding against the storm for almost an hour, miserably searching for an inn Seonghwa remembers visiting years ago after having left Maralya.

“There is!” Seonghwa shouts back, before muttering beneath his breath so that only you can hear. “...Somewhere.”

Your stomach drops. Your arms shake as you hold the tarp over your head, both from soreness as well as the bitter cold. The wind bites sharply against your wet skin, the chill settling within your bones. Teeth involuntarily chattering, the ends of your ears and nose are entirely numb. Although, you almost consider the numbness a blessing, as at least they don’t feel cold anymore.

You agree with Woo’s sentiment. You seriously need to find this inn, so lest you are forced to down Minho’s elixir that resides in your pocket in hopes that it allows you to somehow survive this endless, monstrous chill.

As if sensing both your cynicism and desperation, the god’s answer your fears in the form of a warm light that glows from further down the trail.

“Oh thank the gods,” Seonghwa breathes, before shouting upwards to Woo and San. “It’s just up ahead!”

The inn you approach is small, only big enough for what you assume is a handful of rooms for the few travelers making their way through the Burovian mountain pass. A quaint little brick building that’s warm light pours from its front windows, the sign simply reads: “Mountain Inn”.

Arriving in front of its doorstep, you untie your bags from the horses in a relentless hurry, throwing two satchels over your shoulder as Woo quickly grabs the reins of each of the horses. He leads them towards the stable stationed at the side of the inn, as you, San, and Seonghwa sprint through the open doorway.

Entering the inn is like being transported into a different climate, nearly a different world. The air is thick and warm, the fire from the furnace in the corner providing the place with a cozy feel. The front desk also doubles as a bar of sorts, tables scattered around the room.

It’s busier than you expected, multiple groups of travelers seeming to have fled here for the night. A few are as drenched as yourself, while others appear to have changed into a warm pair of clothing. Not many of them drink, but if they do it’s something warm.

“Want to grab a seat? We’ll see if they have any rooms left,” San says to you, motioning to the table in the far corner of the room. His voice remains calm, expression even settled into a smile as he looks at you.

You and San have been doing an excellent job of pretending the little incident during sword-training this morning never happened. And as far as you’re concerned, it did never happen.

It’s not like you have any sort of actual feelings towards the swordsman. You think he’s kind, compassionate and steady, but that doesn’t need to be romantic. He had just been so close. It had been hot and sweaty and both of you were breathing rather heavily, it was just a biological response. Nothing more.

You almost believe it.

Letting San and Seonghwa heckle the inn-keeper, you leave your two satchels with them before heading towards the corner of the room. Ringing some of the water from the sleeves of your tunic, it falls in a puddle beneath the table as you settle into a chair. Leaning your head against the wall, your eyes are falling shut before you even consider closing them.

You’re tired. And cold. And sore.

It’s been over a week since you slept on something other than a blanket on the ground, and if it weren’t for the way your body feels as if it’s physically shutting down in protest of the fact, you’d barely be able to contain your excitement.

You nearly nod off in your chair before you feel something drop down on the table in front of you.

“Here you are, dear,” a voice says from above you. Peeking an eye open, you’re greeted by a plump middle-aged woman with greying dark hair and small spectacles smiling down at you. Her voice is cheery as she slides whatever she’s placed on the table closer to you.

Looking down, it appears to be a drink of sorts. In a thick white mug, it’s a brown colour with a stick of cinnamon protruding from the top.

“Hot buttered rum,” she explains, taking your bewildered expression as being towards the drink. Well, technically it is toward the drink, but not because of it’s flavour.

“Oh, this must be a mistake,” you say, tone polite as you push it back towards her. “I didn’t order anything.”

“Of course not!” She exclaims, almost too jovial as she pushes it back. There’s a twinkle in her eye, her smile almost mischievous. “It’s courtesy of the handsome young fellow at the table over there.”

Following her finger as she points to the other end of the room, your gaze almost immediately locks with a man sitting at a table. He’s surrounded by a group of equally young men, with dark hair and light eyes. Dressed much warmer than yourself, he sports black gloves and a scarf that wraps around his neck, holding a mug in his hand. Based on the cinnamon stick emerging from the top, it’s the same as yours.

He is handsome, you can’t deny that.

“Ah, young love,” the lady sighs, placing a hand on her heart. She leans in closer, although she doesn’t bother to lower her voice. “They aren’t as spry as they get older. You should invite him over.”

You can practically feel the way your cheeks flush red with embarrassment. “I’ll take that into consideration, thank you.”

Appearing to have taken the hint, she gives you a wink before heading off and back behind the counter. Turning back towards the gifter of the drink, he continues to smile at you, before nodding the glass in your direction in a sort of long-distance “cheers”.

Out of politeness you return the gesture, although you do nothing more than that. Even if the borderline intrusive waitress has suggested you invite him over, you know that would be a horrible idea. Frankly, you have your hands full with the surplus of men already in your life, and flirting is something you don’t think you’ll ever have the luxury of again.

However, it appears the stranger reads your polite smile as an invitation, as he rises to his feet. Whispering something to the man beside him, his friend casts a glance at you from over his shoulder, before grinning and giving the black-haired man a pat on the back.

Casting a wary look behind the man as he approaches you, Seonghwa and San no longer appear to be at the front desk. Your bags are also gone, likely having been taken to your room by the two of them.

Good. You aren’t sure why, but something about the thought of Seonghwa or San thinking that you may be flirting with a stranger makes you feel a bit uneasy. You try not to fixate too much on that thought, the fact that you’re practically engaged to another man yet another issue they’re unaware of, but the relief remains all the same.

The handsome stranger stands in front of you, one gloved hand resting on the table as the other holds his mug. His expression is soft. “Hi. May I join you?”

“If you want to,” you reply, not wishing to be rude. Still, you don’t want to give him the wrong idea. “But I’m with some friends who will be back right away.”

“That’s fine,” he says through a chuckle, pulling out a chair and seating himself across from you. “I’m known to make a quick impression.”

A tad caught off guard by the brazenness of his tone, you don’t say anything in response, although you do offer a chuckle. The man’s gaze continues to watch you, light eyes flickering over your features. He smiles.

“Do you have a name?” He asks.

You take a sip of your drink before answering. “It’s Yeji,” you reply, and he hums to himself, as if mulling it over in his mind.

“Pretty,” he says, and maybe you’d be flattered if it was actually your name. “I’m Yeosang.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Yeosang.”

“Likewise.” He says, fingers tapping against the tabletop. He leans in a little closer, as if hoping to break past the barrier of awkward small-talk, moving towards something the faintest hint deeper. “So, what brings you to the Burovian mountains?”

You almost hesitate, but you’ve always been rather good at thinking on your feet. You’ve had to be, considering you’ve gotten this far with the present circumstances.

“Just traveling,” you say with ease. “Trying to see all of Burovia, figured the mountains would be important not to miss.”

He hums again, a small smile creeping its way onto the corners of his lips. “That’s a good call. The mountains are gorgeous, definitely worth tenting for a couple nights. I’d recommend South-Peak Point, if you want a good view.”

You smile at this. Of course you aren’t actually travelling for recreation and will not have the time to stop and search for any sort of view, no matter how mind-blowing it may be, but for a moment it’s fun to pretend. You always wanted to travel across Burovia, when you were naive and didn’t know how dangerous and gruelling the journey could be, but you suppose it wouldn’t hurt to play along.

“You sound like a well seasoned traveller,” you say, and Yeosang’s eyes gleam at this. He chuckles to himself.

“Something like that,” he laughs. “You’ll also want to hit all the major kingdoms. Zaria, Kuroku, Dildysus. I’d normally suggest Libaiya, but they’ve gotten into a bit of trouble recently.”

You know it shouldn’t, as he also listed the rest of the major kingdom’s prior, but something about your kingdom’s name tumbling from his lips sets you on edge. You shouldn’t be talking to strangers, even ones with kind eyes and clever tongues. You’re supposed to be laying low.

“I’ve heard,” you say shortly, hoping he’ll drop the subject, or that Seonghwa or San may come back to the table.

You almost laugh at how very true that is.

Even so, you have no interest in entertaining the topic any longer. “I’ll be heading to Zaria soon,” you lie, not wanting to give away your real destination, even if he doesn’t appear dangerous. Although, it does strike you as a bit strange for him to bring up the siege, considering it’s likely a heavy topic for many others beyond yourself.

“Long ways away,” he comments, lip quirking upwards. “I’d assume you’d try somewhere closer. Like, I don’t know…Kuroku?”

He says it with such ease and passivity that you know it’s likely nothing, but something about the way he watches you over the rim of the mug as he says the kingdom’s title makes you feel… uneasy. Paranoia, likely, but nonetheless you no longer wish to participate in the conversation.

“I’ve come from Kuroku,” you reply, perhaps a little too blunt. Glancing over his shoulder once more, neither San nor Seonghwa have returned, and you chew on the corner of your cheek, nervous. “Listen, my party should be here soon-”

“Yeosang!” A voice joyfully boasts from behind the man, placing a hand down atop his shoulder. “Are you planning on introducing us to your new friend over here?”

Looking up at the newcomer, he has bright red hair and full cheeks. He’s also not alone, accompanied by a couple of the other men that had been seated at Yeosang’s table.

You internally groan, as frankly, this is not the company you currently wish to indulge your time in. You’re exhausted, and the men appear to take your presence as a form of entertainment. One of them casts Yeosang a wink, the other’s practically swarming around your table.

“This is Yeji,” Yeosang says, extending a hand out towards you in display. “She’s taking a little trip across Burovia. Wanted to see the mountains.”

“Ah sure, sure,” one of the men leaning over the table comments. He turns to face you, lips pulled into a toothy grin. He’s missing one of his middle teeth. “If it’s Burovia you want to see, you’re in luck. We’re the brightest bunch you could’ve ran into.”

You can’t help but let a bit of your impatience slip, tone perhaps a little too sarcastic. “Oh, I’m sure.”

If the man takes offence, he doesn’t show it. Instead he laughs, a hearty sound from his gut. “You pick em’ well Yeosang, we could use some spunk in our group.”

You pause at the statement, this being the second comment he’s made alluding to you joining them. Surely he cannot be serious, as you have literally just met them and are doing nothing to hide the discomfort displayed in your expression.

There’s something a little too forward about these men. The man with the missing tooth stands a little too close to you, so that you can smell the thick stench of alcohol on his breath. The glances they exchange with one another makes a sense of unease settle in your stomach, and you have no interest in sticking around to find out whether or not he’s joking about you joining them.

You awkwardly pull your chair back and rise to your feet. “Listen, I have to go find my group. It was nice meeting you.”

You nod to Yeosang, prepared to leave the table and wander the inn’s hall until you stumble upon your room, but you're stopped as a hand grips your arm. Not tightly, but enough so that you can’t leave without yanking it free.

“C’mon, don’t leave so soon,” he says, giving you a soft smile that does not match the way his fingers clench around your wrist. The leather of his glove is cold against your skin. “You should at least let us show you the trail to South-Peak Point. Wouldn’t want you to get lost.”

You know it’s stupid considering you have no plans of going to see the view anyways, but the patronizing assumption that you couldn’t manage to find the trail on your own causes a flare of annoyance to light inside of you. You huff, letting out a laugh that holds little humour.

“Thanks, but I think I can handle it,” you say. You manage to pull your arm free, but Yeosang is quick to grab it again, and this time a little more firm as he speaks.

“Fine, just let me give you something first,” he says. You consider pulling your arm free in a message of denial, but you figure that’d be useless. If he’s suggesting leaving you alone, you may as well swallow your pride and see whatever it is that he wishes to show you.

Yeosang digs into his pocket with his free hand, pulling out a piece of paper. It’s coffee-stained, crumpled into a ball, and frankly a little gross, which is why you can’t help the disgusted grimace that settles over your features as he drops it into your extended hand.

Unraveling the ball, you’re quick to notice that there are words sketched in thick black ink, clearly mass-printed rather than hand-written. You stare at them.

You continue staring at them for several seconds, re-reading the title over and over again as your brain appears to have momentarily stopped working in order to comprehend them.

When it finally manages, your heart is the next thing to stop functioning, as it plummets down into your stomach with overwhelming dread.

WANTED: PRINCESS OF LIBAIYA.

Beneath that title, a drawing of you.

Clearly someone must have realized the sketch to be inaccurate, as it no longer looks so much like a stranger. Eyes and nose now having returned to their proper size and your hair its current length and texture, even without the details of your present scarring it’s quite obviously you.

And if it’s truly so obvious, it means that the hoard of men that have surrounded you are just as aware of the fact.

“Couldn’t have made it easy for us, could ya’ Princess?” The man with the missing tooth says from beside you, and your grip tightens around the paper, crumpling it between your fingers. Before you can contemplate the fear that ignites itself within your system, your feet are set in motion towards the door, a desperate attempt at escape.

Yeosang’s hand wraps around your wrist before you can make your exit. This time, it is not the coolness of his leather glove that greets you, but the warmth of his palm. Or better, the horrific scolding heat of his palm, as when his flesh touches your own it’s with a burning sensation that causes you to let out a scream of pain.

His right leather glove having been discarded on the table, you’re immediately struck with familiarity of the week prior, of Jay back in Gloria.

He’s a sadist, you realize, and if you believed you were in trouble before then you’re screwed now.

The other groups of people seated within the inn all falter at the sound of your scream, the bustle of the establishment coming to a studded halt as even the lady who brought you your drink stops pouring the pint of ale in her hand. However, while every eye in the rooms seems to have their attention brought to you, none of them seem too keen on lending a hand. Nobody wants to mess with a sadist, let alone with the large band of brutish ruffians that accompany him.

You want to be mad at them, but you cannot. You are a stranger, they don’t owe you anything. Frankly, you’re more than a little scared too.

“We’ve been hunting you for some time now,” Yeosang says through a laugh, eyes glinting with something that resembles mischief, but not as playful. Greed. “I’ve got to hand it to you, you’ve managed to keep a low profile. Well done.”

“Let go of me,” you spit through gritted teeth, doing your best to appear threatening, even if tears sting in your eyes from the way your flesh sizzles and steams.

He does let you tug your arm free, but only because he knows you aren’t going to try and make any sort of quick escape, as it’ll surely be rewarded with another scalding of your arm.

When Yeosang speaks, it’s to the men of his party, not you. “Let’s make our way back to Androndea, I think that’s where we last saw them.” It’s in reference to the black-clad men, you’re certain of it.

“What about the storm?” A voice interjects, although from which man of the party you cannot tell.

“Are you kidding?” Yeosang laughs, grin widening. “We just got 250,000 gold pieces richer. Who gives a shit about a little rain?”

“C’mon, Princess,” the man with the missing tooth says, placing his hands on your shoulder, grip uncomfortably firm. While his tone has remained mostly jovial despite the stakes of the situation, his voice suddenly lowers as he leans in, lips roughly an inch from your ear. “You don’t cooperate, we’ll kill you. We get the reward either way.”

And really, how can you possibly argue with that?

The man steers you forward so that you’re walking towards the exit, and your gaze darts back towards the rooms, hoping that either San or Seonghwa might have heard you scream and come to check what’s wrong. It doesn’t seem likely, as nobody appears from down the hallway, and the inn continues to remain so silent that you could hear a pin drop.

You consider letting out another scream for them to hear you, but the thought of Yeosang placing his hand over your mouth is quick to quelm the idea. You’ve grown rather fond of your lips over the years, and don’t have any particular interest in having them burnt off.

You’re running out of options, and something tells you that if you walk through the inn’s exit, you’re as good as dead.

“What’s going on here?”

Said by a voice from in front of you, your attention is brought to Woo as he stands with his arms crossed. Having returned from the stable, he looks pissed as his eyes flicker between the men that surround you, eyebrows drawn into a deep scowl.

Your initial reaction is immense relief. Things have been good between you and Woo since the night by the fire. A little awkward, considering without the constant arguing and general distaste between both of you, you’ve grown to realize that you don’t really know how to actually exist around one another. There’s still the occasional teasing and bickering, but overall moments alone have been quiet, although not horribly tense. He doesn’t hate you, and based on the way his face twists with both disgust and annoyance towards the men surrounding you, you’re certain that them dragging you out of the building isn’t something the elemental will let slide.

However, your secondary response to Woo’s appearance is overwhelming, horrible dread. These men, they know you. They know who you really are, and if Woo finds out who that is- especially considering what he’d told you by the fire - you’re more than fucked.

You’re dead.

Woo goes to reach for your arm, but the man with the missing tooth pulls you away from him, a little too roughly as you nearly lose your balance.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Woo asks, and his voice nearly sends a shiver down your spine. His tone isn’t necessarily violent, not loud or overly angry. It’s quiet, low. It’s a threat, but only if they make it to be.

Yet, Yeosang doesn’t treat it as such. “Fuck off,” he laughs, shouldering Woo out of his way, nodding for the men to follow him. None of them do. “We got her first, the reward’s ours.”

“Shit,” you think to yourself, the air in your lungs dissipating as if they’ve been squeezed. “Shit, shit, shit.”

Woo scowls at Yeosang. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Don’t play stupid,” Yeosang laughs, rolling his eyes, lip curved upwards into a grin. His eyes glow a deep red hugh, as he likely still rides the high your pain has granted him. “You know what I’m talking about.”

“This is a member of my party,” Woo says through gritted teeth, patience clearly waning thin as his hand clenches in and out, the faintest of flames beginning to dance between his fingers. “I’d appreciate it if you'd let her go before this gets ugly.”

There’s a series of ooo’s let out from the men around you, pure mockery. It’s a challenge, and to your surprise Woo does not extend himself to meet it. Instead, his gaze turns to you, and he nods over towards the hallway where your room is. “Come on, Yeji. Let’s go.”

He doesn’t understand the stakes at play, or why these men are bugging you and toying with him. If he did, he’d know there’s not a chance in hell of them just letting you leave, of escaping this without any bloodshed.

You don’t know what to do, but you know that you have to do something. The jar that contains your lies is teetering at the edge of a cliff, a mere breeze enough to blow it over. You have to act now, before it is smashed beyond repair.

“Yeji, huh?” Yeosang says, mulling over the name as he glances over at you. Your current terror must read blatantly on your face, as his own eyes light up with something that resembles delight. He turns back to Woo, grinning. “You really don’t know, do you?”

“Woo- '' You start, trying to gain his attention - or better, take it away from Yeosang. You attempt to move towards him, but the man’s grip tightens around your shoulder, practically pulling you into him.

“Quit playing games,” Woo says, although you don’t miss the faintest hint of suspicion edging it’s way into his voice, as his gaze darts between Yeosang and your own. “Give her back.”

“You don’t even realize how precious the cargo is that you’ve been carrying,” Yeosang says, stepping a little closer to Woo. His grin is wicked, as he seeks to create pain and chaos in true sadist fashion. “You could have been rich, my friend.”

Woo’s scowl deepens, and his gaze falls on yours over Yeosang’s shoulder. “What is he talking about?” He asks, and his tone isn’t accusatory. Even though his gaze has become wary, words hesitant, he’s not angry with you.

Not yet. He will be.

“I…” You start, before trailing off. You should tell him, you know that. He’s going to know, is bound to realize, and that is only if you somehow manage to make it out of this alive. Maybe if the truth comes from you he’ll somehow grant you mercy.

But you can’t bring your lips to move. Out of fear of him abandoning you. Of in fury changing his mind and seeking the reward himself.

Or the most likely of options, being too terrified to see the utter betrayal that will read blatantly across his face.

Woo’s eyes narrow, lips drawing into a thin line as his gaze shifts back to Yeosang. “Let her go. I won’t ask again.”

Yeosang snickers at this, casting a mischievous glance back to both you and his party. “Quite the bodyguard you’ve acquired, haven’t you, Princess?” You wince at the pet-name that doubles as a title, not missing how Woo’s brows furrow even deeper.

Yeosang turns back towards Woo. His tongue slides along his teeth, almost serpent like, and he looks the elemental up and down. “And if I don’t, what then?”

“You don’t want to find out.”

There’s a tense moment as Woo stares down Yeosang, gaze refusing to budge. He doesn’t appear the slightest bit afraid, even though there remains about a dozen burly armed men before him. You wonder what it’s like, to be so sure of yourself. To be the master of such raw and unbridled power.

Then Yeosang reaches forward, grabbing Woo’s throat in his palm.

There’s a choked sound, followed by sizzling as Yeosang’s gift clearly takes Woo by surprise. Fortunately, for what Yeosang’s contains in one hidden gift, Woo matches him with his own.

There’s a flash of heat and light as a ball of flame ignites within the elemental’s hand, followed by a firm sideways swing as Woo’s fiery fist slams against the side of Yeosang’s head. It sends the sadist reeling, as he stumbles backwards. He clutches his scalp, which now sparks and burns from Woo’s flame.

The strike sends the inn into a frenzy, the men around you all unsheathing their own weapons, stalking towards the elemental. Woo’s gaze flickers between them, pupils darting back and forth as he appears to size up each opponent.

Then he begins.

Starting with a strong gust of air that blows two of the men approaching him off their feet, they tumble over the top of a table, landing on the ground behind it with a series of groans and a loud “thud”. Woo does not give them the chance to get up, as he sends another large blast of wind in their direction. The table slides backwards, horrifically fast as it traps them between it and the wall, accompanied by a sound that resembles the breaking of bones.

Turning to his next opponents - or better, victims, as it’s blatantly obvious they don’t stand a chance - both of his palms fill with flame. Throwing one ball of fire towards one of the men, it hits him square in the jaw, to which he lets out a wail of agony before clutching his face and falling to the ground.

Woo prepares the another flame, but it’s rendered unnecessary, as the other man’s expression floods with terror. Taking off past Woo, he sprints through the inn’s open door, towards cowardly safety. Woo chuckles, a low and unhumorous sound.

Yeosang swears under his breath, gaze darting between his deserted lackey and Woo. He turns to face you, before nodding to the man that continues to hold onto your shoulders.

The man with the missing tooth’s grip on you tightens, and he begins to drag you with him as he makes a break towards the door. Woo is currently preoccupied with two more of Yeosang’s men, clutching his fist as one of the kegs behind the counter explodes, the sheer pressure of the liquid enough for one of the men to go flying backwards. His head collides with the wall opposite to you with a sickening “crack”.

It makes your stomach twist, but you have greater matters at hand. Despite the way you fight desperately against the man’s grasp, he is massive, leaving zero possibility for you to outmatch him with raw strength. You need to be more tactical.

As you attempt to shout out for Woo, the man’s large hand flies over your mouth, ensuring that he remains under the radar as he continues his pursuit towards the exit. Yeosang already stands in the doorway, waving him forward.

They’re willing to desert their comrades, you realize. Leave them to suffer so long as they get their reward. If you thought they were greedy and sleazy before, you find them even more repulsive now.

The realization that if you don’t do something now, you’re likely not going to get the chance to do something ever sets in, and it causes you to consider your options. Your arms are rendered immobile due to the force of his grip, and your legs can’t cause much damage either as they’re mostly focused on remaining standing as the man rushes the two of you towards the doorway.

With all your limbs rendered useless, there aren’t many options available. Which is why you sink your teeth down onto one of his fingers that cover your mouth.

The sweat of his skin tastes salty on your tongue, and it takes everything in you not to gag as a strong metallic flavour soon follows suit. Instead of releasing his hand, you bite down even harder, so much so that you can feel the thin-ness of his bone between your teeth.

He mutters a shocked swear beneath his breath, wincing as he tears his hand free. It’s only a moment, but his grip on your shoulder relinquishes itself as he cradles his hand, glowering in disgust at the deep bite marks residing along his bloody finger.

You don’t waste the opportunity. Removing your sword from its sheath, you immediately settle into your defensive stance. San’s voice rings in your mind: Low on your knees, light on the balls of your feet, sword extended in both hands.

You do just that, and when the man finally brings his attention back over to you - arms extended to grab you, as if expecting you to have foolishly remained where he’d left you - his expression is one of surprise. It takes him a moment, but a crooked grin slowly creeps over lips before he reaches down to relinquish his own sword.

“Full of surprises, aren’t we, Princess?” He mocks, falling into his own defensive stance. It’s a tad sloppy, you note. He remains heavy on the heels of his feet, San would make him regret that immediately in training.

Before you can assess his technique any further, he’s on the move. Approaching you with a monstrous swing, both hands over his head as he brings his long-sword down upon your own, it takes all the strength you can muster to not drop the blade. Your wrists burn at the contact, but you don’t let yourself focus on the pain.

Upon striking you, the man takes a few seconds too long to raise his blade once more. He’s slow. San has always been fast. Even if the result is San’s swing’s not being as powerful, as the swordsman would put it, focusing too much on strength can quickly become a weakness.

And it does, as this time you're ready for his attack. When he brings the blade down again, instead of deflecting the strike you parry backwards, causing him to miss you entirely.

The man growls in frustration, followed by a stifled groan of pain as you swing your own blade out towards him, managing to nick his shoulder even as he attempts to dodge the swipe.

You grin, and it dawns on you that in this moment you’re out-wielding him. This is not San - of whom you know, who knows you in return and seeks to train rather than beat you - this is an actual opponent who strikes with a vengeance, a desire to win.

And yet, you are the one who’s winning, and it fills you with a sense of pride that you aren’t sure you’ve ever felt. A sense of passion, a desire for more.

Striking the man once again, this time your sword slices sharp against his cheek. Blood immediately drops from the wound near his eye like a red-stained tear. For a moment, he falters. Now should be his opportunity to attack, but he does not take it. Instead, he opts to fall back into his defensive stance, chewing on his bottom lip as his gaze darts upwards to meet yours.

He’s nervous. You smile.

You’re prepared to strike towards him again, already settling your sword into both of your hands to prepare another swing, but you don’t get the chance.

A hand grips around the back of your neck, and with it comes that familiar burning sting. You drop your sword.

“Quite the show,” Yeosang whispers as his fingers tighten around your neck, his nails digging into your burning skin as he pulls you behind him towards the door. “Let’s go.”

Scanning the room, you find Woo fighting with a tall and lanky fellow, who appears to be running from him more than actually sparring. San and Seonghwa also must have overheard the commotion during your sword fight, as they both have appeared and are dealing with their own opponents, San with his sword and Seonghwa with hand-to-hand combat. They are the only men left standing, the rest having either escaped or are crumpled against the floor.

Fortunately, while Yeosang’s grip is agonizing it does not render your lips useless as the man’s before him had.

“Woo!” You shout, breaking his attention from the man he has just finished throwing yet another ball of fire at, this one having landed true against his chest.

The elemental’s eyes widen when he sees you being pulled towards the door, and he does not hesitate for even a second before taking off after you.

When his fist connects with Yeosang’s nose, it is with no flame, just the sound of his raw knuckles cracking against the man’s face. Yeosang’s stumbles backwards with his hands cupped around his nose bridge, Woo following after him.

It’s with another swift punch that Yeosang crumbles to the ground. By the way he doesn’t move to get back up, you know he’s fallen unconscious.

You finally take the opportunity to catch your breath. There’s a moment shared in silence between both you and Woo, as you watch Yeosang breath in and out, eyelids fallen shut.

When Woo moves, it’s towards you. Hand wrapping around your wrist, he pulls you with him towards the door, before shouting over his shoulder to both Seonghwa and San. “Finish the job, we’ll be down the trail!”

Running as to not be dragged behind him, you pass by the inn’s owners on your way out. The other customers and the lady who’d given you the hot buttered rum hide behind the front desk, trembling in fear as they watch you with worried stares. You aren’t sure if they’re afraid of you, Woo, or whether your group will bring them more trouble before the night is over. Likely a mixture of them all.

Woo pulls you through the door, the two of you taking off down the trail. You jog for what you assume is ten minutes, and when he doesn’t stop, you realize that you aren’t sure where exactly you’re even going.

“Woo?” You ask. You aren’t able to see his face as he runs in front of you, expression shrouded in the storm’s shadow. It continues to downpour, the many droplets pounding heavily on your skin, filling you with a bitter cold as they soak through your tunic.

“Woo!” You try again when he doesn’t answer, forced to shout over the sound of the rain hitting the ground, pattering against the many puddles as the trail has already begun to flood. “Where are we going?”

It’s at this he finally lets go of you, stopping in his relentless pursuit. His gaze flies up and down the trail, searching if anyone had followed the two of you out. Once he realizes you're alone, he sighs, swallowing hard.

Then a sharp gust of wind blows you off your feet.

You tumble along the trail, mud splashing up and into your face as you roll along the dirt, knees burning as they scrape along the rocks beneath you. The force of the wind is great, and when you finally manage to stop rolling, you’re dizzy as you rise to your feet.

Even through the unsteadiness, you take off into the forest before you can consider otherwise. The realization of the danger you’re in has set in to your body, but not yet your mind. All you can think is run.

Twigs and rocks crunching beneath you along the forest floor, you fight against the mud threatening to suck you down, clawing at the bottoms of your shoes. You’re doing alright, until it’s one particularly thick patch of the wet dirt that takes hold of your boot, and you tumble down onto your forearms.

Attempting to immediately rise back up to your feet, it proves to be no use as the mud refuses to relinquish your ankle. You turn around, prepared to shed yourself of your boot if that is what permits you to escape.

Only to find that the mud is not only sucking you down, but crawling up your leg. It’s deep black sludge twisting around your calf, creeping its way upwards.

You attempt to pull your leg free, but it’s of no use, especially considering the mud has also begun to intrap your other ankle as well.

“No, no, no,” you whisper beneath your breath, panicked as your gaze shoots upwards. Woo makes his way towards you, clearly in no rush as his hand is extended out in front of him, fingers dancing as the mud’s pace begins to quicken. It engulfs both of your legs, and it’s only then you feel it begin to creep over and onto your wrists, the mud from other puddles within the forest approaching you in the form of large, worm-like beings.

A large echo of thunder rattles around you, not far off as the forest flashes with a strike of lightning. It casts light across Woo’s expression as he approaches, and his eyes are dark as he watches you through furrowed brows. Rain pours down upon him and his dark hair clings to his forehead, giving him a rugged look as he remains covered in the damp grime of the keg’s ale. His jaw is set firm, teeth clearly gritted beneath the tight line his lips are drawn into.

If looks could kill, you would already be dead.

Woo clenches his fist, and the lines of wet earth wrap firm around your wrists, while the mud that encompasses your feet suddenly launches you upwards. It’s as if you are standing, but a layer of mud continues to sit under your feet, trapping you as your back presses firm against a tree that sits behind you. Meanwhile, the mud around your wrists pulls your arms in opposite directions, like two ropes attached from opposite trees.

You know you can’t move. You don’t even bother to try.

Woo finally finds himself in front of you. His gaze bares into yours, and for a moment he doesn’t say anything. He doesn't have to, the rage that swirls within the darkness of his eyes already says enough.

When he finally does speak, his voice is quiet. It gives nothing away. No anger, no sadness. Nothing.

“Who are you?” He asks.

You know he heard them back at the inn, the men calling you Princess, the way they went on and on about how you were “precious cargo”. He knew about the reward since he found the poster back in Stockholm. Woo is smart, and based on the way his eyes bare through you, there’s no doubt he’s already put the two and two together. No sense in hiding any longer.

“I think you already know,” you answer.

Woo’s face contorts inwards on itself at the admission. All of his features - his eyebrows, his lips, his nose - squinching together, a look of overwhelming, crushing devastation. He looks upwards into the sky, as if to curse the god’s for where he has now found himself. His fists clench at his sides, and the mud tightens around your wrists and ankles, although you aren’t sure if it’s intentional.

“Shit,” he whispers, and it’s more broken than it is angry. He buries his face into his hands, and it appears as if he doesn’t know what to do with himself. The realization of it all hitting him in full force, the depth of your lie. How Seonghwa has gotten himself so deeply entangled with a fraud. How your father is dead and there is no money in Kuroku, meaning San could be as good as fucked.

How he completely unravelled himself for you, only to find it was your family that had tied all the knots in the first place.

“I’m sorry,” you say, even though you know it’s a meaningless, pathetic excuse for an apology. You don’t expect his forgiveness, you don’t deserve it. Perhaps that is why you do not try, as you do not wish for him to grant it.

Woo pulls his hands away and they fall down at his side. He does not look at you, instead his eyes remain trained up at the sky, the rain pounding endlessly across his face. He does not seem to care.

Woo swallows hard. Then he moves towards you.

Digging into his pocket, he pulls something out. As its cool metal presses against your throat, you’re quick to recognize it to be a knife. Based on the beautiful design fashioned on the hilt that you can see from the corner of your eye, it is the one from the day you met them, the one he’d taken from you before the scorpions.

You bet he wishes the beasts had finished the job.

“Don’t tell me you’re sorry,” he says lowly, and his eyes meet yours over the blade. He’s close enough that you can feel his breath on your skin, warm against the storm’s bitter cold, and it reminds you of back in the sand village. When he’d brought you into Aisha’s house’s narrow hallway and asked for your help, a testament towards his newly forming trust. A mistake.

His eyes are glossy, and when the tears begin to slip through it is not the same as it had been a few nights ago. Then he was nothing but vulnerable. His tears were sad, but they were of the gentle kind, the trusting kind.

These tears are just as raw, but they are born of nothing but fury, of hatred in its most pure form.

“You are a monster,” he says quietly. “You are no better than them. Jay, Warden, your father,” he spits the word out like a curse.

“At least they are honest about what they are,” he says through gritted teeth, practically seething as he stares daggers into your eyes. “At least they don't trick broken men into doing their bidding. At least they don’t hide behind pretty smiles and fake tears.”

You swallow hard, and you feel the knife against your throat as it bobs. When you speak it is choked and quiet, the blade not permitting anything more than that. “Do you want to know why?”

“You think I give a fuck why?” Woo says through a harsh laugh. “I don't care if you’re on death row, I don't care about what men are hunting you, I don't care what real business you have in Kuroku. I don’t care.”

He presses the knife further against your throat and you wince, the blade breaking past the first layer of skin. “You saw what San is dealing with. You saw how badly we need that fucking money, and you didn’t give a shit!”

You want to argue that you did care, that it has been eating you up inside since the confrontation in Gloria. That every spare moment in solitude has been devoured by guilt, wanting nothing more than to tell them the truth, but too afraid to take the chance given your reward.

You don’t tell him this, because Woo does not want to hear it. You do not blame him, he does not owe you the opportunity to plead your case. He owes you nothing.

“But of course you didn’t. Your whole cursed family doesn't care about anyone but themselves,” he continues, lips curling in disgust. “Were you laughing inside listening to what happened to me in your orphanages? Was it amusing for you?”

The accusation makes your chest ache, because no, of course not. His story was horrific, unlike anything you thought your father was capable of. It crushed you, and it continues to crush you still. It certainly is not something in which you find any sort of entertainment.

“I didn’t know about the orphanages Woo-” You start, desperate to have him aware of that fact, but he doesn’t let you finish.

“Like hell you didn’t know!” He cuts you off, and now he is yelling. His tone is higher than normal, as he fights off the tears that well in his eyes, voice breaking with emotion. “You think I'm actually going to believe that, after all of this?”

He shakes his head, and you can feel as his grip tightens around the hilt of the knife in his hand. “I should slit your throat right now.”

“You should,” you agree, simply because it is true. A tense moment of silence passes and Woo does not use the knife, nor does he pull it away. “So why don’t you?”

His answer is preceded by a pause, but when he speaks, it’s as if it should be obvious. “Because of them. The people you’ve used,” he spits, his breathing escalating as he struggles to control his anger. “Seonghwa is so far passed smitten for you, and San is too good of a person to agree to what you deserve.”

He presses the knife a little deeper. Not enough to kill, or even severely wound, but enough that it hurts. You swallow down a whine of pain, although tears sting in your eyes. When he speaks, his voice is low.

“I want you to understand that if it weren't for them, I would kill you where you stand. And I would enjoy it.”

“Woo? Yeji?” Someone calls from down the trail - Seonghwa, based on the accent - heading towards you as his voice becomes louder. Woo’s face twists even deeper into a scowl at the mention of your name. Your fake name.

“You guys?” You hear Seonghwa call again, before a series of footsteps head towards you. In the distance you can see as both he and San approach, your sword in San’s hand. “We saw your footsteps heading into the forest, what are you guys…”

Seonghwa trails off as he sees the two of you before him, the elaborate mud-prison that Woo has trapped you in certainly an alarming sight. Seonghwa’s eyebrows furrow together and he steps towards you, casting Woo a bewildered look.

“Woo, what the hell are you doing?” he asks. In response, Woo clenches his fist, and the mud comes tumbling down to the ground. You fall with it, knees burning as they crash against the forest underbrush. You don’t bother rising to your feet, your legs feeling too much as if they’ve turned into liquid to manage it.

“Ask her,” Woo spits, shoving the knife back into his pocket. When you don’t respond, your lips feeling too numb to make themselves move, his tone becomes even more furious. “Tell them what I’m doing.”

You want to, but your tongue suddenly feels like it’s swollen three times as large. Seonghwa looks at you with big, innocent and worried eyes. So genuinely and truly concerned for you. San’s expression is not as gentle, but it is equally as confused. He watches you with bewilderment, it does not appear to cross his mind that you have done something to wrong them.

Which is why you cannot bring yourself to speak, to tell them the truth of what you have done. How you have used them. How that while you will try to get the royal family in Kuroku to bring them wealth, there is no guarantee, as you are not even from their kingdom. Your name is not Yeji, you are not the girl you swore to be, the girl who they’ve grown to care about.

“A liar to the very end, huh?” Woo says, letting out a snort of disbelief. Turning away from you and towards both San and Seonghwa, his expression shifts from anger to sadness, as if realizing just how deeply this will hurt them.

Still, he is less of a coward than you are, and he does not hold himself back.

“She’s not from Kuroku,” he says plainly, one fist clenching at his side as the other points back towards you, accusatory. “She’s the Libaiyan Princess.”

Seonghwa’s eyebrows pull together, and he lets out a small laugh of confusion. “No she’s not,” he says, and from the lightness in his tone you can tell that he truly and whole-heartedly believes it.

When Woo says nothing in response, Seonghwa turns to you, as if expecting a rebuttal. A moment passes as he waits for you to deny the accusation, to exclaim that Woo is only joking, because surely he must be. Surely you would not do something so horrible, play them all as fools.

You watch the soft smile fall from his face as he realizes you are not going to.

“Yeji,” he says, followed by nothing, once again prompting you to deny it. He doesn’t want to believe it’s true, refuses to until the words come from your own mouth.

“Stop calling her that,” Woo interjects angrily. He’s not upset with Seonghwa, merely cannot stand to hear the lie fall off his tongue. “She’s not Yeji. It’s all been a lie. All of it. There’s no father in Kuroku. After all of this, there’s nothing for us. We’re as good as fucked.”

Woo whirls on you, gesturing to both himself and around him, to all those you have hurt beyond repair. “Congratulations,” he says. “You’re almost to Kuroku. I hope you got what you wanted.”

He’s storming back down the path before you can offer any sort of response, although you doubt you could have managed to say anything of value. Tears well in your eyes and fall silently down your cheeks, you cannot even bring yourself to sob. It feels as if your voice box has been hollowed out, losing even the mere ability to speak.

What could you possibly say to make it better? The answer is simple: there is nothing.

San watches you, mouth drawn into a tight line. His good eye flickers between you and the sword that rests in his hand. At first you do not understand what he’s looking at, but you soon realize that it’s the sapphire embedded in the hilt. Your mother’s sapphire.

A small, sad smile spreads over his lips. He shakes his head, as if disappointed, both in you and himself.

“Ah,” he says at the realization, setting the sword down on the ground in front of him. He gives you another glance, and you cannot understand his reaction. He does not cry, he does not scream, he does not do anything but smile sadly. “I should have known.”

He turns to run after Woo, and now it is just you and Seonghwa.

The blonde stares at you, and his face is almost blank. Lips only slightly down-turned, his eyes remain vacant. Empty.

Seonghwa is always so animated. Smile enough to brighten a room when he’s happy, teeth practically chattering when he’s worried, and eyes like broken saucers when he is sad. It is only now that you’ve ever seen him appear so hollow, and it is far more difficult to bear than the pain even his tears could bring you.

“Is it true?” He asks, and you nod.

He swallows hard, as if gulping down any and all emotion. His pain is something he’s never appeared to hide from you, vulnerability never a source of shame between the two of you. How quickly that has changed.

“How could you not tell me that?” He asks, and his tone is plain. Numb. “How could you go all this time keeping that from me?”

When you don’t respond, you can see the way his anger itches beneath his skin, bubbling up his throat as he once again gulps down more air. He wants to be angry, but he also so desperately wishes to understand. Understand how the girl he’s grown so fond of is nothing of who she truly is. “What, did you not think you could trust me like I trusted you?”

“I couldn’t take that risk, Seonghwa,” you say, almost pleading with him to understand. You hate the way he’s looking at you, eyes so vacant, as if you are a stranger. It’s unfair of you to wish otherwise, it’s true. “I couldn’t let my guard down, not with such a high reward on my head.”

“You couldn’t let your guard down but you could sleep with me,” Seonghwa interjects, and there it is. Plain, harsh, but also complete and utter fact. “Did any of that mean anything to you? Or were you just playing with my head so I wouldn’t suspect anything?”

“Of course it meant something to me, Hwa-”

“Stop,” he whispers, lips pursing together. His gaze shifts to the ground, as if he cannot bear to look at you any longer. “Guilt, regret, and desperation.”

When he doesn’t elaborate, you ask what he means through a sob. Your body finally permits you to cry, and as the tears fall your entire being shakes, from your chest to your very soul.

“That night in Stockholm, those are the emotions I took from you,” he explains, his own throat tightening as his voice becomes raspy, the words difficult to get out. “If only I knew what they were really from. I thought I was being kind, not pressing you any further, turns out I was just a fool.”

“You weren’t a fool-”

“Oh, I am,” he cuts you off, lips pursing together. He finally looks at you, and his eyes have begun to glisten, rimmed with tears he does not let fall. “I am because even now I hate to see you cry.”

He shakes his head, before turning around. When he speaks, he does not face you. “I suggest you stay here for a while, Woo will need some time to cool off. If you’re really the princess, I’m sure your business in Kuroku is a royal affair. If that means there’s a way you can get San the money, come back. If there’s not…”

He trails off, gaze drifting to your sword on the ground, he sighs. “If there’s not then don’t bother.”

Seonghwa leaves and you are alone.

The night’s darkness cascading down upon you in tune with the pouring rain, you remain on your knees, fingers digging into the mud as you clench it within your hands.

You almost wish it would come alive once more, that Woo would come back, even if it was simply to scream at you. To berate you for your lies, for what you have done. At least then he is here, and you are not alone. Even if you have destroyed everything, they are all still with you.

But he is not here. None of them are.

Minho’s words from a week prior ring in your mind like an unwelcome tune: “They will discover your lies, and it will change everything.”

A sob erupts from your throat as you know that it already has.

~~~~~~~~

next chapter.

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newtabfics · 10 months

Text

Returned: Rauru x Fem!Reader NSFT Series. Part 1

Summary: Rauru is somehow revived in modern Hyrule and his instincts have gone insane as he realizes he's lost his mate.

Triggers for mild dubcon elements as well as just nsft stuff.

He had gripped his wife’s hand. If he had a heart still, he knew it’d be hammering. His mate before him always left him feeling content. Burying her felt like burying his own heart. He pulled her close as he felt the pull of the afterlife, knowing he was content being with her again before cold sucked him down.

With a shout, he lurched upward, blinking up at the thundering sky. His body trembled as he looked around, hoping to see her. When he found nothing but trees surrounding him, he let out an animalistic cry of anguish that sent the birds from their trees.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

“Please do be careful,” Zelda sighed as Y/N mounted her horse.

“Z, you have to relax. I know what I’m doing. Besides, it’s probably an Octorok. Master Link taught me enough to know what I’m doing when it comes to those suckers,” she said proudly.

Link snorted behind Zelda, looking away sheepishly at her look before she sighed and nodded. “Alright. Just don’t get over your head.”

“I won’t. I’ll retreat and report to any security members if it comes to it,” She promised before looking to Link. “Master, you should consider telling your woman to stop fretting,” She joked, earning a blush from both of them as she goaded her horse into a gallop. She laughed and waved back at them as Hateno Village disappeared behind her.

The journey through Hyrule to the Great Plateau wasn’t necessarily an arduous one. In fact, she counted herself lucky to not run into any storms in the three-day ride.

Her mission was to investigate the strange animal supposedly seen at the once-honored Temple of Time. Though it’d fallen into ruin after the Calamity, it was regarded as sacred ground. Not many people even dared to near the Great Plateau, mostly out of superstition.

The Outskirt Stable reported a strange creature seen in the shadows of the Great Plateau. Zelda immediately wanted to investigate but everyone insisted she not as only a few short months had passed since her return. She only relented when Y/N offered to go in her stead.

She’d trained under Link, like many other alleged knights of Hyrule. Though the term fit, it hadn’t felt the same. Y/N trained under him as one of the many people who admired him.

As she trotted up to the Outskirt Stable, she was greeted by the many stable hands, smiling at the sound of the Stable Trotters–er, Stable Heroes, as they liked to go by now, playing a lovely show on the nearby stage.

“What brings you out here?” A man asked her as she entered the stable to register herself at the inn.

“Investigation. I’m sure you might’ve heard something about the weird animal out here,” She confessed, looking to him. Thanks to Link’s training, it didn’t take long for her to realize this guy was all talk. Most of his gear hardly looked used.

“Oh yeah. I’ve been avoiding the Plateua walls actually,” He confessed. “Apparently people have been avoiding it, thinking it’s a cursed spirit. With the Demon King’s defeat, people are saying something bigger might be coming.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” She chuckled, shrugging. “I mean, if what you say is coming does, then why did they hide? I mean, given they’re theoretically bigger than the Demon King, wouldn’t they have come about regardless of the Upheaval because they’re so much stronger.”

He smirked, nodding. “You got a good point. Good head on your shoulders.”

“It can do so much more,” She added, winking playfully.

She happily accepted following him out to a small camp away from the inn. There, he’d buried himself in her, her nails digging into his back as she met his thrusts.

Y/N grunted and moaned, biting her lip as he gripped her hips. His moans reverberated in her ears as he somehow managed to miss every sweet spot inside her, ensuring she hadn’t been fully satiated.

Maybe she could blame his lack of an actual length which she’d promised. Perhaps a few centimeters didn’t matter to anyone else that cared about him, but she didn’t so there was that. Thankfully, she did manage to get off enough to help her sleep that night.

Y/N sighed happily as her horse trotted up to the wall. She dismounted, patting her side as she pulled out an apple and dropped it for the horse. With a kick in her step, she began to scale up the hill into the plateau.

Looming overhead, she could see the sky islands. They never left after the Demon King’s defeat, which felt almost like a taunt to adventurers like her. She wondered if she could ever see Hyrule from above the clouds.

The sun began to set as she neared the Forest of Spirits, she stretched and scanned her surroundings. She blinked at the distant sound of bell chimes and looked up to the sky islands. She smiled as she made camp, thinking only of her investigation as she eyed the trees.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

The embers died out as she lay in her tent, unaware of the being lurking closer to her. Drawn in by her scent, he moved closer to her.

His mate. His mate was nearby. He found her. He’d found his mate.

His inner beast was practically screaming with excitement as he crawled into the tent. He couldn’t stop as he crawled over her, kissing her exposed neck and rutting against her desperately. He snarled as he caught the scent of someone else on her. Someone had tried to make a claim on her and clearly failed.

She stirred at the contact before ripping away from him and kicking him away.

“Mate,” He rasped, grabbing at her leg. She kicked against him, forcing him back and out of the tent as she crawled out. As she made to escape the tent, he was on her again, burying his face into her neck and taking in her scent.

Y/N shuddered as his hands grabbed at her hips and shoved him away before running. The trees blurred past her as the chase began, trying to understand what he was. He was clearly intelligent, given he could speak Hylian, but it came garbled, almost foreign.

As she hid deep in the Forest of Spirits, her mind wandered to the way he’d rutted against her. She felt him through the clothing. She could barely make out his features, but he sure as hell wasn’t Hylian nor Zora.

When his hands found her, he pinned her to the nearby tree, eyes glazed from desperation as he loomed over her. It was then she finally took his clothing in and realized this man was Zonai.

Part Two

#rauru x fem!reader #rauru totk fic #rauru totk smut #part 1 #returned series #part 1 of 5

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sailorshadzter · 2 months

Text

some modern jonsa that i was inspired to write after seeing a word prompt list ive since lost since i didnt reblog it lol

tw: domestic violence mention

tbh i had every intention of writing more for this but realized ive written this same plot line too many times & it turned me off from finishing it any further lol

ANYWAYS

His phone rings, an unfamiliar number flashing across the screen.

At once he knows, somehow, within the depths of his mind just who would be on the other end of that call. He reaches, thumb clicking the green button, putting the phone to his ear. “Hello?” He says, but the only response is a small, yet sharp intake of air, then the blare of the dial tone. His hand falls back to his side, phone gripped tightly in his palm- he thinks for a moment he might move on, a wrong number perhaps, but his heart twists and he knows.

So he pulls it back upwards, clicking the number and listening as the ringing begins once more.

She gasps, the phone she holds lighting up, the number she’d only just dialed a few moments ago flashing on the screen, calling her back. Her heart skips a beat, a tremor of fear rushing the length of her spine, but she steels her heart against it and answers the call. “Jon…?”

Jon…

The voice is familiar, despite the time that’s passed since he last heard it. “Sansa…” he greets softly, gray eyes closing for a long, silent moment. “It’s been a long time,” he continues, perhaps with a sharper tone than he intends, opening his eyes so he might stare at the single photo he keeps on the table beside his couch- it’s from five summers back, when Robb had been alive and his time was so often spent with the Stark family that he was usually mistaken for just another of their many children.

She knew this was a mistake.

It’s been nearly three years since she last saw Jon, since she even spoke to him, let alone saw him, so why would he want to talk to her now? Besides… It wasn’t like he’d tried to call, either, at least not recently. “I know,” she says, holding onto whatever bravery is left in her heart. “I’m sorry.”

Her voice breaks over the syllables of apology and something tells Jon that this nine o’clock call on a Tuesday night isn’t just to catch up. “Sansa… What is it?” He softens now, empty hand tightening into a fist at his side, his mind whirring with every possibility.

On the other end, Sansa steps into the bathroom, flipping on the light so she can stare into the mirror. The face that stares back at her is one she almost doesn’t recognize, not with the bruises and the tears, the eyes haunted by what’s been done. She shudders, closing her eyes for another moment more, wishing she could find the words to say to him. “I… I need help.” She finally says, softly, brokenly, a fresh tear falling down her face.

The silence that falls lasts all of twenty seconds before he speaks.

“I’ll be there tomorrow.”

[ x x x ]

When his truck pulls into the driveway, she’s already at the door.

She slips out the front door so she can stand there on the front steps, watching as he climbs from his truck and makes his way up the drive, looking quite like a man that’s drove all night long to get to her side. Her heart skips a beat as he climbs up the two steps to stand on the porch, his familiar gray eyes sweeping her up and down. “Sansa…” He says her name in such a way that her knees buckle and he’s reaching for her then, embracing her as he’s only done once or twice before. He’s warm and smells like shitty gas station coffee and cigarettes- he still stress smokes, it would seem.

“Come in…” Is all she says, drawing away and returning inside, holding the door open for him to come in after her.

They stand there in the foyer for a long moment, he merely staring at her, words unable to form on his lips. He swallows, hesitantly reaching a hand out, fingertips trailing along her swollen lower lip, across the ugly bruise that stains her ivory skin black and blue. “When?” He asks, tight lipped and somber, a look in his eyes that she’s never seen before.

“Yesterday…” She admits softly. “Right before I called you.”

Jon nods, taking in the information; he was who she called in her most desperate time of need. “Is it the first time?” He asks next and when she hesitates to answer, he knows it isn’t. “Where is he now?” His next question comes, palm cradling her cheek, his heart thumping so loudly he imagines she must be able to hear it plain as day.

“I don’t know,” she answers honestly. “Maybe his parents house, maybe his flat,” she hasn’t seen nor heard from Joffrey since he stormed out of her place the day before. But, she knows it won’t last- he’ll return home eventually, perhaps with a huge bouquet of flowers, or perhaps a diamond tennis bracelet. Anything he can buy to get her to accept his apology, his tears and promises always enough to convince her that it would never happen again. “He has a place over by the University.” She pulls away, but Jon reaches for her hand, keeping her there. “Jon…” She begins, but sighs, shaking her head. “Thank you for coming.”

“I’m glad you called me…” Jon tilts his head and chuckles softly, drawing her back in for a tight embrace.

She will be safe from now on.

#jonsa #modern jonsa #actuallyjonsa #jon x sansa #i wrote this #my writing

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liquidstar · 28 days

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If I can't sleep that's ok because you know what.... I will post one more small excerpt from my oc writing practice wips. Just once more for now

probably the only context you need for this one is that everyone's at a party that a place is throwing them for completing a big mission. so here it is

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As the party raged on within the stone walls, Polaris slipped away to the porch. She took slow steps, carefully carrying an arranged plate of finger food she’d collected. She sat down on the floor, and leaned her head up against the wall. Taking in the muted sounds of the festivity indoors, she found comfort in this space that hovered between the roaring celebration and the stillness of the night.

Polaris wasn’t alone in seeking refuge outside, another person had found their way to her hiding spot- It’s Mira! Though Polaris had ventured out to eat alone, Mira was certainly not unwelcome company.

However, Mira did not seem to notice Polaris sitting on the ground. She walked right past her, lost in her own thoughts as she made her way to the railing, relaxing her arms on it.

“Hey,” Polaris spoke in a cautious voice, so as not to startle her teammate. Still, she saw Mira tense at the sound of her voice.

“Oh! Polly! I didn't see you, sorry!”

Polaris laughs, “All good!”

“What are you doing… sitting on the ground alone?”

“Eating,” Polaris shrugged, and took another bite of her food.

“Ohh…”

“What about you? I didn't think you'd be the type to leave parties. Aren’t you a social butterfly?”

“I'd like to be a butterfly!” Mira laughs, turning her face towards the sky above, her eyes sparkling with wonder, “But actually I just wanted to look at the stars a little. They're clearer here in the mountains y'know…”

“Hm,” Polaris followed Mira's gaze upwards. She rose to her feet, joining Mira at the railing, “Yeah, you're right.”

“It's so pretty,” Mira marveled, tracing the constellations above. She adds, “It's so big.”

“Yeah, well, that's space.”

They fell into a comfortable stilless, taking in the enchanting view of the starry sky. The distant sounds of the party still echoed in the background, the golden light from inside illuminating only their backs.

“Do you ever feel like this is the wrong place?”

Polaris tilted her head and raised an eyebrow at Mira's sudden question. “What do you mean?”

Mira raised a single outstretched hand to the heavens, as if waiting for the universe to take it. Staring at the gaps of sky between her fingers, she continues, "Don't you feel like… We're supposed to be up there?"

Polaris looks into Mira's eyes, which were still fixated above. She could only see a vague wistfulness within them- A nostalgia. The stars themselves shined within those eyes. Polaris couldn’t explain why, but this made her uneasy.

As if in a daze, Mira stood on her tiptoes and reached for the stars with all her might. In a panic, Polaris drops her plate and grabs onto her friend.

“Polaris? What are you doing?” Mira’s trance was broken by the sudden embrace, “I thought you weren't a hugger?” She joked.

“I thought… I thought the stars were going to take you away,” Polaris mumbled, embarrassed by the ridiculousness of her own words, “So I held on…”

Mira couldn’t help but laugh at this absurd statement, “What? That's silly! How would that even work?” poking fun at her friend's nonsense concerns, she tried to lighten the mood.

“I don't-” Polaris relaxed her grip, but didn't fully let go of Mira, “It really felt like it…”

Mira let out a sigh and patted her head, “I wouldn't let that happen, okay?”

Having these irrational concerns humored somehow made Polaris feel even more embarrassed. She released Mira from her embrace, and stepped back to lean on the railing. "Sorry,” she replied.

“Well, I'm just glad you care so much!” Mira laughed again, not letting up on her teasing. However, her snarky smile softens and she leaves Polaris with a, “Thank you.”

With that, Mira heads back inside, leaving Polaris alone with her thoughts. She took one last glance at the stars.

“The right place…” She whispers to the night.

#finn's ocs #now for girls #but actually there is ONE thing in this one that relates to the last one i posted #it's really small so I'll just point it out- saiph and mira both comfort people by patting their heads lol #also going back to the first one i posted- polaris gets to eat! yay!#ALSO w polaris i wanna have distinct moments where the description for her team each switch from teammate to friend. this is mira's #i also wanna work in distinct moments where the descriptions for characters will change from boy/girl to man/woman.#bc they're all like in their mid 20s by the end. and i wrote one for bella but it's not cleaned up #but yeah that's what i got and those are my thoughts

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keepyourpantsongohan · 10 months

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Never-Ending Betelgeuse

It’s a long story, so I want to take my time. (Chapter 425). | @kagumo-zine fic for The Man and The Moon Zine | AO3 |

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

When Sakumo wakes up, he is not alone in his house.

By instinct, his hand is on his tantō before his feet even hit the ground. His eyes are still adjusting to the morning light as he treads silently toward the kitchen. The scent is somehow woody, ambrosial, and medicinal all at once, but barely there, in the way a summons would be before they first travel to their contract. He might not have noticed it at all were it not for the humming.

There is a steady, low hum, drifting out from deeper in his home. It is neither meditative nor melodic. More so, it sounds to Sakumo like the buzzing of bees or the inexplicable plaints of the forest which set the deer on edge.

It is all the more perplexing when he sees the source of the noise. The mouth of the most lovely woman he has ever seen, standing barefoot and seemingly unarmed in the middle of his home, who pauses her strange song to bite one of the red onions he had harvested this season as if it were an apple.

She takes no note of Sakumo entering the kitchen. He is standing directly in front of her, his sword half-raised, still in his bedclothes, so she can’t possibly be ignorant of his presence. Still, her focus is on the onion. He gets the feeling he’s being ignored.

“Excuse me,” says Sakumo, clearing his throat. “But those are my onions.”

She finally looks at him. And with a smile that knocks the wind out of Sakumo, matter-of-factly informs him, “I ate them.”

“Er, why?”

His intruder considers the question. Glancing upward in reflection, she decides, “Hunger.”

Sakumo laughs, finally lowering his tantō. He supposes that’s as good an answer as any other. “If you’re hungry, I can make you something,” he offers.

She smiles more widely, and Sakumo thinks this must’ve been the correct answer. Her hair, both silver and purple, sways as instantaneously she moves from several metres away to right in front of his nose. By the speed of the movement, he’s not sure he would’ve been able to reach her with his tantō if he’d tried.

“I am Kaguya,” she says, so close he’s almost cross-eyed trying to meet her gaze. From this distance, it is clear that her eyes are not just glassy, as he’d thought, but lacking any pupils. Her height is also a surprise, unimposing as she’d seemed in his kitchen.

“Hatake Sakumo,” he replies, stepping back so that he has enough room to bow.

“Sakumo,” she repeats, like a song.

“So, what do you like to eat besides onions?”

The next time he sees Kaguya, his fingers are buried deep in the snow amongst his cabbages.

It is tedious work, moving through the layers of slush and straw that cover his vegetables. The other villagers of his skillset would be using their chakra and tools to complete this task. Yet Sakumo’s ancestors also grew their own crops, and while he’s not above breaking tradition, there is something to the value of what can be done by hand. So he digs.

When Sakumo collects his last cabbage a few hours later, he finds a pair of familiar white eyes looking at him intently through the bed of straw. Just like before, he can perceive what’s in front of him perfectly fine with his own eyes, but all of the instincts and extrasensory abilities he has honed since he was a child are suspiciously silent. It is as if the person in front of him is no different than the water and earth beneath him, or the trees on the far side of his field.

He brushes the straw away from a set of eyes and his fingers graze a warm cheek. “You’re not a scarecrow, are you?”

“Aino said I am a woman,” replies his companion. As she speaks, Sakumo feels the wind shift. It is the only warning he gets before all the snow covering his land melts. Kaguya glides upwards and lands seated on top of the straw bed, as if lying beneath half a metre of sleet is something she does every day.

“You look a little different than most women I know,” Sakumo admits, both artless and appreciative.

In the six months that have passed since she spent three days following him around his farmland, Kaguya has gained a pair of horns on either side of her head, and a third eye closed in what appears strikingly close to a wink.

“What do you think I am?”

Beautiful, Sakumo wants to say, but it feels terribly forward. So instead he says, pink-cheeked and smiling, “Tall.”

“Thank you.”

This time around, she stays longer. It is a full month that Kaguya spends with him. The weather is frigid enough that his skills are more needed in his village than outside of it, and he is grateful for the company.

Kaguya speaks of Aino again, and two people she describes only as “the young ones.” She never says what land or clan she belongs to, but among chakra users that is a common way to avoid bloodshed. Yet he knows she is something, be it samurai, shinobi or spirit. He can tell from the way she replies to thoughts he has not spoken aloud, how she sees the most minute changes in his posture, or how she dances around his sword as he practices his Iaidō. Though that third eye of hers never opens, Sakumo is certain if it did, he would have no way of stopping her.

As it is, Kaguya is only kind to him, curious and forthright in her behaviour. She has no qualms about leaning over Sakumo to grab his hair for his attention or prodding his cheeks when he grins. She calls him breathtakingly human once, and Sakumo blushes for the whole afternoon. He resolves himself to ask if she will stay with him for the spring.

However just as suddenly as she appears, when the first flowers emerge from the ground, Kaguya is gone.

Kaguya appears again at the other end of his sword mid-battle.

As with the winter having called upon him to tend to his crops to shore up the agricultural needs of his neighbours, the summer calls upon Sakumo to utilize his most innate skill: fighting.

While his village is not so entrenched in the framework of clans as other followers of ninshū, it is not above skirmishes of land, law and loyalty. The former is what has been troubling them these days. Naturally, Sakumo recognizes that collectives arise where there is free access to water, ore, and arable soil. His people are unfortunate enough to have all three. It is a driving force for desperation in the surrounding areas.

It is why each battle makes Sakumo’s tantō a little heavier in his hand. He wonders if this fight is easier for the shinobi, who have the privilege of only seeing as much of his comrades’ faces as are visible through their armoured masks.

Though his opponents’ usage of chakra is different than his, Sakumo is quick to adapt, and even quicker to cut them down. Shinobi techniques rely on having time to gather energy, and Sakumo’s blade is no different from his own hand to him. The fight is unbalanced. It is this thought that accompanies Sakumo as he strikes at a shinobi who set fire to a half-dozen fields yesterday, belonging to civilians and samurai alike.

His opponent cannot block him. He can feel it slipping between the plates of the other man’s armour. He knows where it will land.

His tantō stops right before it makes contact with his opponent’s heart.

Kaguya’s eyes are closed, but her fingers are gripping the edge of Sakumo’s weapon as if it were one of his wooden dummy swords. Her fingers dig into the neck of the shinobi, stealing his breath. Sakumo’s own breath stops.

“There will be no more fighting,” Kaguya says and opens all three of her eyes.

A flash of light blinds Sakumo temporarily, and he finds his head crashing into the dirt as the earth beneath them moves, more suddenly than he ever thought possible. Though his eyes are squeezed shut, he is certain that debris has filled the air, and he is once again grateful for his mask.

When the world stops again, Sakumo feels a hand brushing dust off his face. “I have solved it,” he hears, in that familiar lilting voice.

It becomes clear as Sakumo blinks and sits up, that the solution before him is the mountain range that has arisen in the middle of what was flatlands moments ago. In the height of summer, they are capped with snow and extend as far as his eyes can see. In fact, he would wager it borders his whole village. The shinobi is nowhere in sight.

“Thank you,” Sakumo says, finally looking back at Kaguya. “But there may still be battles to come.”

Kaguya moves suddenly, and for a moment he expects her to crouch down. Instead, he finds himself being floated upwards by an invisible force so that they are at eye level. “You do not want to fight,” she notes.

The smile on Kaguya’s face flips his stomach in time with the hovering of his body. Sakumo nods. She leans forward and holds his face in her hands. “Then we are the same. I am glad.”

They see each other more frequently from then on.

Though Kaguya’s actions have done enough to protect their village from immediate threats, ninshū has always meant more to Sakumo and his comrades than mere combat. So he trains himself, growing stronger and faster to make his naturally low reserves of energy more efficient in their use.

But this time, Kaguya stays and watches. More than that, she shares her techniques with him. He learns from watching her move that he could never hope to match her in speed or strength, even when he suspects she’s using a mere fraction of her power. However, while too skilled to be a match as a sparring partner, she is an eager teacher. She advises him on how to move beyond changing the shape of his chakra to transform its nature.

She beams at him when he first moulds his chakra into the shape of earth and makes a miniature version of her snow-covered mountains. She laughs when he tries to light a candle and blows off his left eyebrow. He kisses her the first time he uses chakra to close his own wound.

He is not bold enough to presume that it is him alone keeping her here, but regardless, he is grateful. He is thankful for the days they spend running him ragged on his fields, and for the days they spend laying underneath the shade of a tree, watching her converse with the nearby rabbits.

Today, Kaguya’s usual leporine conversation seems to have turned into a quarrel. Kaguya and the white-and-brown rabbit glower at each other for a few minutes before Sakumo asks, “What’s the matter?”

“She coddles her kit,” Kaguya says disapprovingly. Before Sakumo can ask what she means, the rabbit freezes abruptly, and a ball of fur with shining red eyes pops out from beneath the creature. “He is old enough to live on his own.”

“Maybe he’s helping her by staying nearby,” Sakumo suggests. “Sometimes it can be difficult for parents to let go.”

Kaguya flops down onto the grass beside him, and the mother rabbit relaxes and mimics her, staring at them with what Sakumo can only imagine is a haughty expression among rabbits. “Parents must ensure their offspring are strong enough to survive.”

“Do you want to have a child?” Sakumo asks thoughtfully. Unbidden, he sees himself chasing a child with his hair and Kaguya’s eyes around these fields. He imagines himself teaching them to hold a sword, and her teaching them to tap into their chakra.

Lost in those thoughts as he is, Kaguya’s clear voice startles him in her reply. “I had two.�� She pauses as if reconsidering. “Three. One is me.”

“Three... children?” Sakumo repeats.

Kaguya purses her lips, and her third eye narrows. He knows by now that this expression means she is translating what he’s said into a language more familiar to her than the one they share. After a moment, her face relaxes and she replies, “They are adults.”

Sakumo has always had the sense that Kaguya is a little older than him. Though his eyes have more lines around them than hers do, and his hair is more gray than her silver, that is less a product of age than being his father’s son. Kaguya, for all that she looks unmarked by the passage of time, speaks as though she’s lived through more battles than anyone in his lifetime. By now, he has learned her clan name, Ōtsutsuki, and knows that history books claim that the name has died out. He decides it doesn’t matter.

“I’d like to meet them someday,” Sakumo says, taking hold of her hand. “Have you ever married?”

Kaguya sits up and covers his hands with her own. Her fingers are warm and gentle, but when she speaks, her tone is stern. “Explain,” she demands.

With a sheepish chuckle, Sakumo turns his palm over and strokes Kaguya’s hand soothingly. Certainly, there is no blame to be laid for the frustration. He has been struggling just as much with shinobi techniques as she has been with the customs of samurai. “Well, usually marriage involves two individuals promising to live together permanently. Sometimes it’s recorded in writing as well.”

Sanguinely, Kaguya observes, “You are married to your summons.”

“No, no!” Sakumo says, dropping their interlocked hands to wave his own fervently. In protest, one strand of Kaguya’s hair reaches towards him and tugs Sakumo’s neck so that they are closer together, and places his hand on her cheek. He laughs, settling his fingers at her jaw. “Different kind of contract. I’ve never been married. It’s... building a future with someone. I’ve always hoped if I married someone, we’d be together for a long time.”

Kaguya’s grip on his wrist and neck grows looser, and soon she is close enough that they are nose-to-nose. “We will marry,” declares Kaguya plainly.

“Oh!” Sakumo’s heart stutters in his chest, which is unsurprising given how much blood is flooding his cheeks. “Yes, I’d like that.”

Her white eyes constrict in a way that he knows means she is looking behind him. Enthusiastically, she adds, “We will make a child.”

Sakumo clears his throat. “I haven’t—Well, I know—Ah...”

Kaguya smiles widely. “I will show you.”

As it turns out, Kaguya’s definition of a child is a bit different than Sakumo’s.

Notwithstanding the variations in how exactly children are brought into the world in his knowledge versus Kaguya’s revelations—the butterfly and worm are certainly a surprise, but he supposes the birds and bees have been mentioned—the form the child takes, a shining purple egg that Kaguya ties into a sling for him to carry, is also a new discovery.

“The baby,” Kaguya explains that first day, tapping the shell fondly.

Like Kaguya’s earlier visits, Sakumo suspects that the baby will follow their own schedule, so the egg is his constant companion for the months that follow. It sits with him in the kitchen as he cooks. It lays against his chest as he reads. It rolls behind him in his fields and scares off the birds that approach his crops, and earns the egg the nickname, “Kakashi.”

Although Kaguya is never gone for more than a day at a time during these months, Sakumo can see the changes in his wife’s face whenever she steps away from their home. Each time she appears from beyond the mountain, her face grows more weary. Time etches itself into her expression. Still, her tenderness towards Sakumo and Kakashi does not diminish.

It is why there is not a shred of doubt in his Sakumo’s heart when Kaguya returns home one night doing something he’s never seen her do previously: Running on foot.

He rises from the engawa, making sure Kakashi is strapped securely to his body before he rushes across the grass, barefoot, to meet Kaguya halfway. “What happened?” he asks, pulling her into his arms.

“I put them all to sleep,” Kaguya tells him, pressing closer. “And now they will put me to sleep.”

“Why?” Sakumo asks. Even he is not sure what he is asking.

Her grip on the two of them grows stronger. “The nursery will not hold without my help. When I am done, I can restore peace.”

As if in response to these words, the egg pips and five of the tiniest fingers Sakumo has ever seen reach out over the sling to grab onto a lock of Kaguya’s hair. “I don’t think the baby’s ready for you to leave.”

“No one can stay,” Kaguya says, placing her hand over Kakashi’s. She leans down to press her lips to those fingers and then disentangles them. “You and Kakashi will go too.”

“Where?” he asks.

“When,” she corrects, and splits the world open.

Kaguya’s third eye is wide and glassy, and when he follows her line of sight, Sakumo does not see the fields in front of his home, but instead a heavily forested area, with carved stone faces in the distance. He has never known so many buildings to be so close together, let alone in the shapes and sizes of these. A new bright, shining sphere lights up the sky so that the stars pale in comparison. Kaguya has cut the fabric of the air into something entirely new.

“We will see each other again,” Kaguya promises, pushing him forward.

When Sakumo wakes up, he has a child in his arms and the moon smiling down upon him.

#kagumo #sakumo hatake #kaguya otsutsuki #kagumo zine #zines #fanfiction #mine #ayesha talks anime #long post #this was displaying weirdly in the preview #so if it looks funky u can always read on ao3 #anyway. the wishing on a monkey's paw for wanting me to write more <3 #[might duy voice] thank u for ur support #as always u can blacklist 'long post' if the read more isn't effective LOL

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blacktofade · 1 year

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I woke up in the middle of the night on Sunday with this idea in my head and had to do something with it, so here we are.

Not enough of a thing to post to AO3, so this is a Tumblr 'sclusie.

Hook/Evilhausen, Hook/OFC, NC-17, Hook brings someone back to his hotel room, but starts seeing things.

The mouth on Hook’s cock is warm and wet and the perfect kind of distraction.

Hook doesn’t make a habit of bringing women back to his hotel room. It’s too public, too messy. But sometimes he’ll make an exception. When he’s tired and sore and wants to think about nothing at all.

His mind is blissfully silent when he hits the back of her throat. She lets out a soft noise, hot, like she likes it, and he tangles his fingers into her hair. It’s a muddy kind of brown around his knuckles and so long that it falls around her face, obscuring her from view.

He tips his head back, staring at the ceiling, thumb rubbing against her scalp, and she does something devastating with her tongue.

He lets out a soft breath and she seems to understand what he means because she does it again.

She has one hand working him, the other resting on his hip, like a warning to not buck upwards. Not that he would. Not unless she asked.

He tightens his grip on her hair and shuts his eyes, inhaling slowly.

“Hook,” she says, which — she still has her mouth on him, she shouldn’t be able to say a word.

He opens his eyes and looks down to find her staring up at him, but it’s not her face. It’s different. It’s still half-hidden by her hair, but there’s a flash of white paint, a hint of red.

He blinks, choking back a noise he can’t let escape, and then her face is hers again, the gold of her eyeshadow stark against her brown eyes and bronzed skin. She catches his gaze and the corner of her mouth twitches like a smile.

She pulls off for barely a moment, swirling her tongue around the tip of his cock before diving back down and it feels like — he doesn’t know.

He lets out a ragged breath, unable to look away, but her bangs slip down, hiding her from view again.

He knows he’s tired, but it can’t be enough to make him see things. He’s done more, stayed up later, but it’s never made him hallucinate before.

Carefully, he lets go of the hair at the crown of her head and gently cards his fingers through the hair over face, pushing it back.

His stomach flips and cock twitches as a blue eye stares back at him. A blue eye that’s ringed in black and red and somehow isn't at all how he remembers it.

He moans, can't help it, and black stained lips smile around him.

For a fraction of a second, the hair beneath his palm is short and slicked back, and he grips it, pulling to get the mouth off his cock.

"You like it rough?" the woman asks with a smile, lips red, eyes dark again, and it feels like Hook can't breathe.

There's something wrong with him.

"Can I ride you?" she asks, already moving, and Hook should say no. He should tell her he's too tired, too off balance.

But instead he nods.

His hands fit perfectly around her hips, thumbs slipping into the divots of them as though made for him. Her thighs are strong and smooth as she straddles him, reaching back with one manicured hand to guide him inside her.

She's so soft and warm, and endlessly wet as though blowing him had been enough for her.

A groan punches out of him and it feels a little like taking a bump in the ring when hands, smudged with black paint, settle on his chest.

"Is this what Hook wants?" Danhausen asks, but it's not him.

It's not.

Hook had brought a woman back to his room. He'd met her in the hotel bar downstairs, glitzed up like she was going out, but she'd stayed when he'd asked if he could buy her a drink. She'd introduced herself as Tiana or Tessa — something like that — and when he'd leaned in close and asked if she had any plans, she'd said she was open to ideas.

And now she's hot and tight around him, letting him get as deep as he can, but the face that stares down at him isn't hers.

"Does Hook like this?" Danhausen asks, his hands sliding up to Hook's shoulders, and Hook knows it's him, but everything about him seems wrong.

Hook isn't stupid enough to think Danhausen has ever looked soft, but his paint is harsher now, skeletal, like death has come for him.

But it's not just that. It's his posture, the way he sits on Hook's hips, back ramrod straight, staring down so coldly. It's his hands and the way his fingers dig into Hook's skin like they want to bury under the surface.

"Danhausen can give Hook what he wants."

What Hook wants is for his head to clear. He wants to feel like he's not going insane.

His hands clutch tighter at a waist that's less feminine than before and Danhausen shifts, a smooth drag against Hook's cock.

It's too much when Hook's heart is pounding in his chest, anxiety cinching around his lungs.

"What does Hook want?" Danhausen asks and his body flickers.

For a moment, he sees Tiana or Tessa or whatever her name is. He sees the way she tilts her head back, the curve of her neck so beautiful, her breasts begging for his touch. But the higher he slides his hands, the paler her skin turns and when he gets to her ribs, a tattoo, demonic and all too familiar, bleeds through.

"Would Hook prefer her?" Danhausen asks, staring down at him again, and Hook doesn't know what to think.

He's being toyed with. He's just a game for Danhausen, and his anxiety shifts, burns sharper inside his chest.

It doesn't matter what he prefers and it doesn’t matter what he wants. It's not Danhausen's business.

Danhausen, who's been gone for months with barely a word. Who shows back up like this, as though he has any right to haunt him.

The anger kicks in before he can stop it, and he's back in the ring, grabbing his opponents and tossing them aside. The unbridled rage that burns through him, fuels his muscles even as they stretch and ache.

No one stands a chance against him, least of all Danhausen.

He flips them, Danhausen feeling like nothing more than a ghost as Hook slams him to the bed, cock still aching and inside him.

He presses a hand to Danhausen's throat and squeezes just tight enough to be a threat.

Danhausen lets out a breath, or perhaps a laugh, it's hard to tell the difference, and his mouth stretches wide.

"Is this what you want?" Hook hisses, leaning over him and Danhausen laughs again, deep and rumbling this time.

"Would Hook prefer if Danhausen lied?"

Danhausen curls his legs around Hook's waist, ankles locking behind him, and Hook doesn't think either of them is going anywhere.

He braces his other hand against the bed and fucks into Danhausen sharply. It should knock the wind out of him, or take him by surprise, anything.

But Danhausen just keeps grinning up at him as though he knows. As though he's won.

The anger burns hotter, but not for Danhausen. For himself. He’s ashamed at failing so easily.

"Danhausen has been watching," Danhausen tells him. "Hook has won many fights."

Hook grits his teeth and sets a brutal pace, hips slamming forward, but Danhausen just takes it, still so wet, so perfect around him.

"You haven't been there," Hook hisses, and Danhausen brings his hands up to Hook's chest, fingers tracing his collarbone before sliding up and over his shoulders.

"Danhausen doesn't want Hook's belt. Danhausen will not fight for it."

"That's not what I meant," Hook grunts. "You haven't been anywhere."

Danhausen's chin tips up and Hook notices a smear of something that might be blood across the dark paint there.

After a moment, with eyes almost black, he says, "Danhausen wants power."

Hook feels desperately close to the edge, body aching, but never once faltering.

"I’m not enough?" he asks. “Fighting me won’t give you enough power?”

When Danhausen smiles again, it's not as mean.

"Hook is enough for someone."

Hook's chest hurts, and it's not just the burning of his lungs as he pants for breath.

"But not you," he surmises and Danhausen tips his chin again, an agreement.

Inside his mind, he begs the anger to come back, to stop him from feeling, but what sweeps through him is a cold resignation.

"Then why come here?" he snaps. "Why do this to me?"

Danhausen's hand slides up his neck, cupping Hook's jaw, and the expression on Danhausen's face hints that Hook won't like his answer.

"Because Hook will let us."

Hook comes, the force of it dragged out of him in one quick punch, and it feels as though he's falling and falling and falling.

And just when he thinks he should hit the ground, he startles awake.

He gasps for breath, tossing the covers back, his body, wet with sweat, suddenly cooling in the dry air of the air conditioned room.

He's in his hotel room and he's alone, but there's come, sticky and still lukewarm in his boxers.

The TV across from him is on and playing late night QVC, and the bedside lamp is still on. It’s exactly as he’d left it.

Slowly, he drags himself up, standing on shaking legs and begging for them to hold out long enough to get to the bathroom.

He flicks the light on and reaches for the faucet, setting it as cold as it'll go and immediately leaning forward to get his mouth into the stream of it.

He gulps it down, feeling more grounded with every swallow until his stomach feels bloated from it.

Everything had been so vivid, had felt so real. The flesh had been warm under his palms. But as he hangs his head over the sink and lets his breathing slow, he realizes it couldn’t have been. It was just a dream.

There was no woman and no Danhausen.

He cups his hands under the water and splashes his face, the shock of it clearing the rest of the sleep fog from his brain. He’s probably had as much sleep as he’s going to get for one night.

He takes a steadying deep breath before shutting off the faucet and standing upright again.

The water drips off his face and onto his chest, and his reflection stares back at him, pale and uncertain.

In the dip of his collarbone and across his right shoulder, there's a smudge of black paint.

What does Hook want? the voice in his head asks and he doesn't know at all.

#thing wot i wrote #hookhausen #fic #i'm really going through it lads #and i'm dragging as many people down with me as possible

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ejzah · 1 year

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A/N: This is the third story I’ve written, showing a possible future for Kensi and Deeks. I dedicate this story to all my Tumblr friends, everyone who has supported my writing over the years, and for all Kensi, Deeks, and Densi loving fans.

I will continue to write fanfic for this fandom after the finale as I have many WIPs and more stories I’d like to tell, but this one is to honor the characters I’ve come to cherish and give them the best send off I can think of.

***

We Couldn’t Be Happier

“Oh my god, baby,” Kensi gasped, clutching Deeks’ head against her, fingers anchored in his hair as he gently sucked the soft spot beneath her jaw. He increased the pressure suddenly and Kensi rocked forward, squeezing her legs tightly around his hips at the same time as he thrust upward.

She made a high-pitched noise in response, little tremors starting in her stomach. Deeks grinned into her neck, his own breath ragged, skin slick as he moved in rhythm with her.

“Kensi, look at me,” he said, tipping her chin up to meet his so they were pressed forehead to forehead. Her lips brushed against his with every breath, her hardened nipples pressed against his chest, and as they stared into one another’s eyes, Kensi’s breath caught, her entire body quivering, and clenching around Deeks. He gasped with her, hips thrusting a few more times before he joined her.

Kensi collapsed into Deeks, waves of pleasure still rolling through her. She blindly searched for Deeks’ hands, a little lightheaded, and twined their fingers together. Deeks’ other hand settled on the base of her spine.

“Wow,” Kensi whispered hoarsely, laughing breathlessly as she dropped her head onto Deeks’ damp shoulder.

“Yeah. Not sure I can move.”

“Then I think we did it right.” She gave his collar bone a clumsy kiss. Moving carefully, Deeks laid down, somehow still keeping Kensi cradled to his chest.

“I’m starving,” Kensi said few minutes later.

“Well, somebody was pretty eager to get to the festivities,” Deeks teased.

“Um, I didn’t hear you complaining.”

“Oh no, zero complaints. But I did plan on sushi before you derailed our plans with the extremely enticing words, “I need my sex machine”.”

Kensi groaned, having absolutely no defense, and they both knew it. She let her forehead fall onto his shoulder again with a light thump.

“Look, you know how I feel about those pants on you. It’s like you were teasing me all day,” she defended herself.

“And based on the number of times you explored the contents of said pants today, you didn’t seem to mind. But that’s ok, I can wear my cargo pants tomorrow.”

Kensi lifted her head off his shoulder, mildly alarmed by the suggestion. “Don’t you dare.”

“Uh-huh, that’s what I thought.”

Grinning, Deeks rolled Kensi onto her back, sliding his palms up her sides. Kensi pulled his head down to her mouth, just as her stomach growled loudly.

“Right, food,” he said, sitting up with a sigh. “I guess we better get dressed.”

“Or…” Kensi walked her fingers up his chest. “You could DoorDash,” she suggested innocently.

“I like the way you think Mrs. Deeks. Maki rolls and miso to go,” Deeks said, leaning over to grab his phone.

“Best husband ever. Ooh, and don’t forget the spring rolls and seaweed salad!”

He put in their order, tossed his phone to the side, and rolled back to face Kensi. “It’s going to be about 45 minutes.”

“I think I know the perfect thing to pass the time,” Kensi said, welcoming him back into her arms.

***

9 Weeks Later

Kensi submitted her after case report, closing her laptop with a sigh of relief. Five o’clock could not come soon enough. Usually, she didn’t start feeling the drag of early mornings and long days until mid-week, but today she’d woken up exhausted.

“Hey, I was thinking I could get sushi tonight,” Deeks said, leaning over Kensi’s desk. The word sushi had taken on a knew connotation for them recently, and Kensi felt a hint of desire even though she was sure Deeks hadn’t intended it that way.

“Oh baby, I’d love to, but I’m so tired. I just want to go home and sleep,” she said, yawning at the mention of sleep. She thought about chugging the rest of her coffee, but the idea turned her stomach.

“Still?” Deeks’ playfulness turned to concern as he reached out to cup her cheek, brows furrowing. “You’ve felt off for the last two weeks. Maybe you should go to the minute clinic and get checked out.”

Kensi groaned, not wanting to put in the effort or time required for any kind of medical visit. Yet, she also knew Deeks was right, and he wouldn’t relax until she did.

“Ok, I’ll go tomorrow morning. You can break the news to Kilbride.”

“Gee, thanks.” He made a face, dropping a kiss on her temple. “Alright, I’ll make you some nice soothing chicken soup.

“Mm, with chipotle sauce. And dumplings,” Kensi added, eliciting another face from Deeks.

“With a side of tums.”

“Ooh, or a frittata with extra cheese, broccoli, and paprika.”

“Not exactly what I’d call comforting, but whatever my Ladybird desires,” Deeks agreed, tugging her into his side.

***

Kensi woke up the next morning to an empty bed and the sun shining through the curtains. Rolling onto her side, she found a folded piece of note paper on Deeks’ pillow. She opened it, smiling at Deeks’ familiar handwriting.

“Kensalina, my moon and my stars,

Breakfast is in the toaster, Rosa’s at school, don’t forget your appointment is at 9.

Love,

Your charming and adorable husband.

P.S. Kilbride says get better fast or else.”

Kensi rolled back onto her pillow, rubbing her hands over her face. By the time she and Deeks got home last night, she’d been so tired she’d fallen asleep before dinner. Thank god Deeks had been shouldering all the slack, because she’d really been dragging the last couple of weeks.

She pushed up on her elbows, wincing when her stomach cramped unpleasantly. Great, just what she needed on top of a virus. Dragging herself into the bathroom, she opened the small cabinet under the sink, grabbing a box of tampons.

Last month she’d luckily, or unluckily depending on how you looked at it, missed her cycle altogether. As the thought ran through her head, Kensi’s eye landed on a smaller box of pregnancy tests tucked almost in the corner. She froze, a dozen little details clicking into place all at once.

“Don’t be crazy, Kensi,” she muttered to herself, even as her recent exhaustion, unusual food preferences, and random bouts of queasiness made sense.

Shoving the box to the back of the cabinet, Kensi stood and jerkily yanked off her clothes, heading for the shower. She’d been here before; every time she’d convinced herself that she was finally pregnant, the tests were negative. She wasn’t going to put herself, or Deeks, through that turmoil again.

Her shower was far less enjoyable than she’d anticipated. Her thoughts kept circling, a constant debate between what she wanted and what a half dozen doctors had confirmed would require wishing on a star, magic beans, and an act of God. She could not get pregnant. That was simply a fact and no amount of stress or mild viruses could change that.

She climbed out of the shower, eyes drawn to the bathroom cabinet again despite her best efforts. Muttering at herself, Kensi hurried into the bedroom, pulling out clothes and tossing them on the bed. She dressed mechanically, putting her t-shirt on without thinking and giving a perfunctory glance in the mirror.

After that, she headed into the kitchen and filled a tumbler with coffee from the fresh pot Deeks had left warming, adding some cream. The breakfast Deeks had promised consisted of eggs, bacon, and toast, but she couldn’t even think of eating right now. She scooped it all into a Pyrex container, more for the distraction than because she planned to eat it later, and then wiped down the counters—which were already fairly spotless thanks to Deeks’ cleaning obsession.

That left her with a whole half hour before she needed to leave for her appointment. It wasn’t enough time for a workout and she didn’t really feel like it anyway. So, she headed back into the living room, straightening the already neat throw pillows (damn, why did Deeks have to be such a wonderful neat freak?), gathered a few of Rosa’s abandoned school supplies into a pile, and reorganized their dishes into an arrangement that was neither particularly useful or aesthetically pleasing.

“Damn it,” she sighed again when she checked her watch and only ten minutes had passed.

This was ridiculous. She might as well confirm what she already knew so she could stop obsessing over it. Stalking back to the bathroom, Kensi grabbed the box of pregnancy tests, setting them on the counter with a smack, and tore open one of the little foil packets.

A few minutes later, she sat on the closed toilet, foot tapping relentlessly on a tile, eyes glued to the strip carefully placed on a piece of paper towel while she waited for her phone alarm to countdown from ten minutes. She’d forgotten how absolutely anxiety-inducing the entire process was.

What was she thinking? It was beyond stupid to put herself through this again. Thank god Deeks had already left. She couldn’t imagine getting his hopes up again. Or worse, seeing his lack of hope.

Watching his optimism slowly disappear with each successive negative test, each fertility appointment with sympathetic doctors, and more aggressive treatment, had been almost more agonizing than her own pain.

The sharp chime of her alarm startled her out of her musings, and she jerked, fumbling a little as she rushed to silence the noise even though no one else was around to hear it.

Shifting forward, she picked up the strip, then froze. Kensi stared at two fully red lines, vibrant stripes of color on white, not quite processing them. She ran her fingers over the spot, as if the evidence might be a figment of her imagination. “Oh,” she whispered. “Oh.”

Then she dumped out the rest of the box, grabbing two more strips. Another ten minutes later, she held them both in shaking hands, staring down at the pair of equally vivid red lines.

Pressing her free hand over her mouth, she sank to the floor, back against the wall, tears of joy and shock leaking down her cheeks.

Laughing a little hysterically, Kensi grabbed her phone, and found the number to the minute clinic.

“Hi, I need to cancel my appointment.”

***

Kensi was positively giddy as she led Deeks into the house, a sleep mask obscuring his vision. All she’d told him was that he couldn’t come home from his surfing group until 5. When he arrived, she greeted him at the door with the aforementioned sleep mask and a mysterious smile while she blocked his view to inside the house.”

Despite his curiosity, Deeks didn’t object, letting Kensi lead him by the hand.

“This is certainly an intriguing addition to date night. I didn’t realize we were going kinky. I would have worn my leather pants,” he drawled, grinning down in Kensi’s general direction.

“I can’t promise kinky, but I do think you’ll be surprised,” Kensi commented, still sounding unreasonably upbeat. She leaned closer, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “And you know I become unhinged when you wear those pants.” Then she slipped the mask off with a flourish.

Deeks blinked a couple times, the room darker than he’d expected. All the curtains had been drawn, giving the illusion of late evening. The furniture had been moved from the living room, their dining table and chairs now placed in the center of the room, and topped with the best dishes they owned and tapered candles which created a warm glow.

His mouth dropped open slightly as he turned back towards Kensi. “You did all this?”

Kensi shrugged, seeming pleased by his reaction. “I may or may not have had a little help. I think homemade gnocchi is a little outside my current cooking skill set. Sorry.”

“No, this is amazing, baby,” Deeks said, drawing her in for a hug. “I’m just curious about the occasion.”

“What, I can’t spoil my husband?” Kensi teased. She brushed a curl put of his eye, looking up at him fondly, and something else he couldn’t quite read. “Here, come sit down.” She pulled out one of the chairs at the table, retrieving something from next to her place setting while he sat.

Kneeling in front of Deeks, Kensi held out a narrow box and an envelope.

“Ok, now I’m confused and a little concerned. Are you firing me?” Deeks joked, truly nervous, though he couldn’t say exactly why.

“No.” Kensi shook her head. “Open them.” She nudged the box towards his right hand and he took it hesitantly. He lifted the lid, revealing a cushion of blue tissue paper inside. Shifting it to the side, he frowned at the contents, then inhaled slightly, fingers stuttering over two strips.

“Kensi, is this—these look like pregnancy tests.” His voice broke on the last word and he had to clear his throat. He looked up, unable to conceal his confusion, hope, and disbelief.

“Yes, I’m pregnant,” she confirmed, laughing wetly as Deeks shook his head slowly, silent in his shock. “Baby?”

He didn’t say anything, just pulled Kensi into his arms and held her as tightly as he could, moisture filling his eyes.She wrapped her arms around his back, holding him just as fiercely. Turning his head, he captured her mouth in a desperate kiss.

“I can’t believe this,” he finally managed.

“I couldn’t either, but I’ve got about a dozen of these things that say otherwise.” Kensi held up one of the tests, with its two red stripes.

God, he remembered the hundreds of times when they’d prayed and begged for a positive test, only for it be negative.

Deeks closed his hand around Kensi’s, tucking it close to his chest. She cupped his cheek with her other hand, that same delight, tinged with disbelief, in her eyes.

“How?” was all he managed.

“I mean, I think it was probably a product of date night number two.” She winked suggestively. “Um, but the other day when I was supposed to go to the doctor, I found the tests, and I decided to take one. I thought I was being completely ridiculous, but once I thought about it, I couldn’t get it out of my mind. And then when the first one was positive, I had to take about five more. Every single one was positive.”

“You told me you got a clean pass at the doctor,” Deeks said, too elated to be upset by the mild deceit.

“I know, I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you right away, but I had a few things I needed to do first,” Kensi apologized.

“Like planning an extravagant dinner?”

“That and, this.” Kensi nudged him gently, offering the envelope again. “You should probably open it too.”

Wiping at his eyes, he slit the envelope open, removing a single sheet of paper. He squinted at the small font.

“Dear Admiral Kilbride,

Please accept this letter as my official—”

Deeks broke off again, looking up with even wider eyes than before.

“Kens, this sounds like a resignation letter,” he whispered hoarsely.

“It is.” She laughed again, this time the sound full of joy. “I’m ready.”

“You’re sure? This is a huge decision. And with the—the baby. God, I can’t believe I just said that out loud. It’s a lot of changes.”

“I am,” Kensi said, and for once she didn’t hesitate in the least or sound discontent. She cupped his cheeks, eyes soft again. “This has been coming for a really long time. This,” she pressed her hand over her stomach. “was the final push I needed.” She kissed him lightly. “I have everything I want and need.” Pausing for a second, she brushed her thumb across his chin, nail gently scratching the short hairs there.

“What do you think?”

“I think…that this is amazing, and unbelievable, and yes, yes, let’s do this. Let’s resign and have a baby and all the amazing, terrifying, beautiful things that come with it,” he rambled in his giddiness. They kissed again, Kensi clinging to his neck.

“I’m so happy,” she whispered in his ear.

***

“Hey, are you ok? You’re looking a little…grayish,” Deeks said, watching as Kensi paced from one side of the living room to the other.

“I’m fine.” She did another lap. “No, I’m not.” Tossing her head back, she groaned, rolling her shoulders. “I feel so bad about telling Rosa.”

Coming up behind her, Deeks gently guided her back against his chest, and started kneading the base of her spine.

“Baby, it is going to be alright. Rosa is an amazing young woman. She’s not going to be angry.

“Yeah, I know she’s great at rolling with the punches, but this is different,” Kensi stressed. “She didn’t sign up for a newborn sibling waking her up in the middle of the night or hourly diaper changes. What if it’s too much? You know she’s not the type of kid to scream and shout and make a big scene. I’m afraid she’ll try to hide how she feels.”

“Then we’ll make sure Rosa knows that while a lot of things are changing, how much we love her isn’t,” Deeks told Kensi, reiterating the conversation they’d had multiple times in the last three days. “We’ll check in with her too to make sure nothing’s changed. Make sure to spend extra time with her when we can.”

This certainly wasn’t a concern they’d ever imagined having when they decided to adopt Rosa. While he would never, ever change any of this, it did complicate their lives just a little bit.

“No, you’re right, I’m overthinking things.” She took a deep breath with her eyes closed, posture reminiscent of a yoga pose. “Ok, let’s do this.”

Together they walked over to Rosa’s room. Her door was open, Rosa perched on her neatly made bed, head bent over a pad of drawing paper. Deeks rapped on the door jamb and she looked up with a smile, gesturing for them to come in.

“Hey, you got a minute?” he asked.

“Sure! I was just practicing one of the new techniques I learned in art class.” She held up the outline of a figure sitting on a bench.

“That’s looking great!”

“Thanks. I still need a lot of practice, but it’s getting easier. So, what’s up?”

“Rosa, there’s something we wanted to tell you,” Kensi began.

“Is it something bad?” she asked with slight wariness. “There’s not another rogue detective in the house is there?”

“No, nothing like that,” Deeks assured her. “It’s something we’re very excited about.” He gave Kensi an encouraging glance, automatically reaching to hold her hand, to provide support.

“We’re pregnant,” Kensi shared cautiously, barely pausing as Rosa’s eyes widened.

“I thought you couldn’t get pregnant,” she said in confusion.

“That’s what we thought,” Deeks told her, sharing a look of consternation with Kensi. “Look, I know this isn’t what you expec—”

Rosa threw her arms around them both, her head ending up sandwiched between his and Kensi’s.

“I’m so happy!” she exclaimed, giving Kensi her own hug before switching to Deeks.

“You’re not upset?”

“Of course not. I know how much you and Deeks wanted a baby.” She smiled shyly. “And I always wanted a sibling.”

***

1 Year Later

Deeks walked along a tree-lined path, pushing a two-seater stroller in front of him. Ahead, Kensi and Rosa were finishing getting breakfast from a small food truck. It was a perfectly sunny weekend, lots of other families running around the part, enjoying the warmth.

He heard a cooing sound from stroller, and pulled the top cover back, peering down at the two babies laying inside, one with wispy blonde curls and the other with hair a few shades darker.

“Hi Sophia!” Deeks said cheerfully to the tiny blonde. She responded by tilting her head back, eyes widening with delight.

“Gah,” she called out, pointing imperiously at him. Her brother, Caleb, watched, but seemed content to chew on the front of his shirt.

“Oh, does daddy’s little girl need to be picked up?” he asked, grinning down at her. Sophia blew a raspberry, which he took as a yes. Moving around to the front, he unlatched her safety belt, and scooped her up into one arm. “What about you, Mr. Caleb? You need a little snuggle too?”

Caleb kicked his legs excitedly, giving a gummy grin as Deeks picked him up too. Cradling a baby in each arm, he swayed while humming “For Baby” softly to them.

The twins had come a few weeks early, small, but perfectly healthy and beautiful. To say that Kensi and Deeks were stunned that they were adding not one, but two little Deeks-Blyes into the family was a massive understatement.

Still, they wouldn’t change any of it for the world. Neither would their many bonus aunts, uncles, and grandparents, who spoiled them outrageously.

“We have returned with bagels!” Kensi announced, drawing Deeks’ attention from the babies. She carried a large paper bag while Rosa held a carrier filled with coffees.

Kensi immediately set the bag on top of the stroller, reaching for Sophia and Rosa took Caleb.

“Mama missed you,” he heard Kensi say, carefully lowering Sophia into a controlled dip that had the baby giggling uncontrollably.

Now relieved of babies, Deeks began examining the bagel selection. He found a bacon and cheese with avocado which he put aside for Kensi, a cream cheese on onion, and finally a chorizo, egg, and cheese.

“No, Caleb,” Rosa protested holding one arm in the air as he made a desperate grab for her iced coffee. “El cafe no es para bebes. And you can smile at me all you what, I won’t change my mind.”

“Trade me?” Deeks asked, offering Rosa her sandwich in exchange for Caleb. She considered it for a second, side-eyeing Caleb, who was gumming a round little fist.

“Fine,” she conceded. “But don’t think that means you get him indefinitely.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Settling Caleb against his chest again, he sighed contentedly, smiling at Kensi.

“What?” she asked around a massive bite of sandwich.

“Nothing, I’m just happy,” he replied.

“Mm, me too.” She leaned over, pecking him on the lips, then thumbed away a speck of cream cheese from his cheek.

“Don’t worry,” Rosa said to Caleb in a confidential tone. “They’ve always been like this. It gets easier to accept with time.”

“And I wouldn’t change a thing,” Kensi whispered, stretching up to kiss him more thoroughly.

“Love you, Fern.”

***

A/N: I hope this story felt complete and satisfying to you all.

As always, I had to include a little John Denver with my reference to his song “For Baby (For Bobbie).

#ncis la fanfiction #densi #marty deeks #kensi blye #Rosa Reyes #fluff #very light smut #light angst #did I mention it’s fluffy?#future fic #twins #finale fic #Densi’s happily ever after #ejzah fanfiction

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